Wolf-Blood, Daughter of Kings
by Karlandra
Summary: Spoiler Alert. This picks up at the end of Season 7 and is based on the TV show - I'm not reading the books until the show is over. Some influence from You Tube theories which refer to things in the books. Based on the theory that the Starks are linked to the magic that helped build the wall. Arya/Gendry Jon/Dany other pairings possible. (Update.) I intend to write a sequel.
1. Part 1

Part 1:

Arya awoke to the sound of screaming. It took her a minute to realise that it was her own voice, that it was her that was screaming. She abruptly shut her mouth and swallowed the last of the scream, almost biting her tongue in the process. She could still hear the sound of the Wall cracking and shattering. Still feel the magic breaking. She could still see the blue flame coming out of the dragon's mouth… But she wasn't at the Wall, she was at Winterfell. She was in her room, in her bed, surrounded by furs with a low burning fire in the hearth.

Who's eyes had she been looking out of? Who's face? It took her a moment to realise that she had been seeing through the eyes of Beric Dondarrion. Not just seeing through his eyes but thinking his thoughts. It was as if she had been wearing his face. The realisation sent a chill through her that not even the furs on her bed or the dull embers of the fire could chase away. Beric Dondarrion, who was on her list for selling Gendry to the Red Witch Melisandre for two bags of gold. Beric Dondarrion, who had died 6 times and been brought back with fire magic. Was that why the Many-Faced God had let her see through his eyes?

But the scream hadn't been his. The scream was from her, from some deep part of her that she didn't yet understand. She had felt pain as the wall had broken. She had felt something deep down inside of her break with it. The wall had always been a part of her, even when she was in Bravos. It was a part of why she hadn't been able to become no one. As soon as the thought crossed her mind she knew that she had always known it.

But there was no time for such thoughts. The wall had fallen, the Night King was coming. She had seen the army of the dead. Arya ran from her room not caring that she was half dressed, her bare feet a startling contrast to the loud thumping of boots from the guards who were running in their direction. She didn't have long. She didn't bother knocking on Bran's door, by the time she had gotten the door open he had pushed himself into a sitting position and was looking straight at her.

"You saw it too." It wasn't a question. Bran knew that she had seen it. His expression was unreadable as always.

Arya nodded. "Saw and felt it." Bran nodded and she knew he understood. "The wall has fallen." The words were quite but they travelled far enough to reach the ears of Sansa and Sam Tarly who had both come to investigate the noise. Lyanna Mormont wasn't far behind.

"Are you sure?" The panic in Sansa's voice was obvious, she looked even more pale than usual as she clutched her cloak around her tightly, but it was clear to Arya that the cold wasn't the only reason her sister shivered. Five guards had arrived now, in response to Arya's scream, and a couple of Lords of the Vale were close behind them. The hallway was starting to get crowded.

Arya shook her head at Sansa. "Don't tell me you didn't feel it." She answered in a harsh whisper. "Bran the builder didn't just build that wall out of ice and rock. There is magic in it too. Uncle Benjen always said. Magic linked to the house of Stark. Don't tell me something in you didn't break when the wall broke."

Sansa shook her head. "I can't believe…"

"You felt it." Arya replied, "We all felt it. Or are you more Tully than Stark?"

Sansa lowered her eyes. "I felt it." She whispered. Unable to take Arya's stare Sansa quickly turned her full attention on Bran.

Sansa and Sam started talking at once, both asking questions of Bran. Bran did his best to answer them but Arya was no longer listening. More of the other nobles had arrived now, and more guards. There was no time for debates. Arya made eye contact with Bran and he nodded. She slipped away back to her room to get dressed. This was not where she needed to be.

Arya was just securing Needle around her waist when she heard a tap at the door. She turned to see Lyanna Mormont pushing it open. Arya finished securing her sword and reached for the Valyrian Steel and Dragonglass dagger as Lyanna entered the room and closed the door.

"You're no waiting, are you?" The young Lady of Bear Island looked Arya up and down as she gathered her things.

"No." Arya replied. "By the time they finish arguing the Night King will already be here."

Lyanna nodded. "I can give you 20 men. They will ready in the hour."

"Then they will need to catch up." Arya replied.

Lyanna shook her head. "Somebody needs to get a message to Jon. Lady Sansa has too much to deal with. If you write the message I will send my fastest rider to him. If my men aren't ready by then they will have to catch up with you. The rest of my men will help protect Winterfell."

Arya frowned. "I don't have.."

"There is ink and parchment in my room." Lyanna replied.

Arya paused. "Who is your fastest rider?" For the first time that Arya could remember she saw Lyanna Mormont smile.

"Me." The young Lady answered with a slight bow.

Arya nodded and took one last look around the room. It wasn't the room that she had grown up in, she hadn't been able to go back to that room, she wasn't that curious hopeful girl anymore. She doubted that she would ever come back to this room either. She didn't expect to live that long. There was no heaviness as she closed the door. Death is not heavy, death is nothing. Valar morghulis, valar dohaeris. All men must die, all men must serve. She would serve until she died. She would buy Jon what time she could. The two young women walked in silence towards Lyanna's room.

And so the pact of the Blood Wolf and the Young Bear was made.

~~/~~

Somewhere south of the crossroads Jon Stark was suddenly jolted from sleep. He sat bolt upright so fast that Daenerys, who had been entwined around him, was almost thrown to the ground. His whole body was suddenly covered in a cold sweet. His breathing was heavy and ragged. He fought to control it. Fought to make sense of what he had just felt and seen. Each breath hurt as if he was breathing in ice itself, or fire. His chest burnt with pain. He could hear Daenerys trying to get him to tell her what was wrong, but how could he tell her? How could he make her understand that the Wall had just fallen? How could he explain to her that over a thousand years of magic had just suddenly snapped? How could he tell her that it was because of a dragon, her dragon? Viserion. How could he explain to her that the Night King had brought Viserion back? How could Jon explain that the reason he knew all this was because he had seen it through Viserion's eyes? That he had felt the blue fire blow out of his own lungs? Felt the Night King's will in his own head.

"Jon! Jon, look at me!" Daenerys was shaking his shoulders now. "Jon, what happened?"

"The Wall…" Jon whispered. "The Wall has fallen." He felt the hot tears streaming down his face. In need of some sort of comfort he pulled her close to him and buried his face in her shoulder as sobs started to wrack his body.

~~/~~

30 horses, 20 men and 1 Stark. It wasn't going to be enough. Even if they got reinforcements from every Keep and Holdfast going forward it wasn't going to be enough. They had been riding for 3 days and no other men had come. Arya had thought for sure that some of the northern Lords would have been shamed by lacking the bravery and resolve of a young woman and an even younger girl. She wondered how long it would take Lyanna to get to Jon. Or if Daenerys Targaryen would respect her request for aid and Dragonglass.

She hoped the young Mormont was safe, for the first time understanding how her own father must have often felt. She knew it was Lyanna's choice, she just hoped that the young bear understood the choice that she had made.

Arya stared into the fire as most of the men around her settled for the night. Lyanna had given her the most experienced of her men. Seasoned fighters, well disciplined. All of them old enough to have had children. The men of Bear Island were smart enough to show her respect. They knew how to be led by a woman – if that woman deserved to lead them.

She no longer said her list before going to sleep, that would have to wait. She had a new list now and there was only one name on it. "The Night King." She whispered the name into the fire.

"Arya Stark." The fire whispered back.

"Not today." Arya replied and laid down to try and sleep. As she started to drift of she wondered exactly when she had started to lose her mind. "Fire's don't whisper back." She told herself. She took one last look at the fire as she drifted off to sleep. For a moment she thought she could see Gendry looking back at her, but she knew that wasn't possible. When sleep finally took her it was filled with wolf-dreams. She dreamt of a giant direwolf pack, led by Nymeria, making their way towards the wall.

~~/~~

Gendry sighed. The Hound was snoring loudly beside him, a half empty wine skin clutched in his hand. Brienne of Tarth and Podrick were asleep on the other side of the fire. Podrick was sleep talking, mumbling something about ham and a misunderstanding. They were close to the crossroads. Gendry wondered if Hot Pie was still there. Wondered if he would see him even if he was. They had been marching longer and harder than ever the last 3 days. His whole body ached. What he wouldn't give for a horse.

Something in Jon Snow had changed. Gendry could see it. It was like the closer they got to Winterfell the more determined Jon got, the stronger his resolve became. Every pause, every delay made him more and more on edge. Gendry thought he was starting to behave more and more like his angry little sister. Maybe it was a Stark thing?

Gendry wondered how his life had become so crazy. Here he was in the middle of an army of Dothraki and Unsullied headed north to fight the army of the dead for a Stark bastard with a war hammer that he knew wouldn't do much good. Three or four years earlier he had been in almost exactly the same place with a young Lady of Winterfell and a cook. Clearly if he ever made it passed the Trident by foot he was going to die. Gendry decided that sailing North with Jon didn't count.

He stoked the fire up one last time. "Why are you doing this, Gendry?" He asked the fire. "What do you think you have to gain?" He looked into the fire for a long time but he already knew the answer. It would all be worth it if he got to see his Lady one last time. His heart broke again as he remembered how she had offered to be his family. How he had rejected the offer because he was too afraid to accept it. Too afraid to let her be that close and then watch her slip away, as he knew she would, once she got her real family back. Of course if he had known then what he knew now he might have been braver, he might have accepted her offer, for all the good it would have done him.

Gendry looked around at the surrounding fires, everybody close enough to hear was asleep. Some of the unsullied were keeping watch but they were too far away to be able to hear. The foreign one that called herself Missandei (Daenerys' hand maiden or servant, or maybe even her lover?) was sitting near a fire some way away but surely she wasn't close enough to hear. Gendry let the thought, the desire, linger a little longer before allowing the name to pass his lips in a wistful whisper. "Arya Stark."

The fire seemed to flicker and he could almost imagine he could see her. She would be older now, a woman. He imagined that he could see her in the flames, beside another fire. He imagined that she wore her hair half up, similar to how Lord Stark had worn his that day so many years ago. It would be longer now. He imagined she had a riding cloak on. The type that goes over one shoulder so as not to block your sword hand. She was left handed so it would be over her right shoulder. And she would be wearing pants, not a dress, maybe leather armour? She wouldn't like metal armour. She was all about speed and making herself a smaller target, about not getting hit… But she wouldn't be by a fire by the road. She was a Lady of Winterfell and that was where she belonged.

The Hound had told him that she had made it home. A small kindness, but a big act for a man that knew little of kindness. Gendry gazed into the fire for a while longer and let it play tricks on him before finally settling down to sleep. The last thing that crossed his mind before he fell asleep was the words of Melisandre.

 _"There is power in a kings blood."_

~~/~~


	2. Part 2

Part 2:

Tyrion and Varys were driving Jon insane. He understood the importance of working out the best way for Daenerys to arrive at Winterfell, but did they have to spend every waking minute going over every tiny detail that could possibly go wrong?

"Jon, you have to understand just how important that first impression is." Tyrion said.

Jon stopped his horse. "You know what I understand, Tyrion? I understand that the Wall has fallen and the army of-"

"You don't _know_ that Jon," Tyrion replied in a voice that sounded more condescending than reassuring. "It was just a dream. The Wall has stood for a thousand years."

"I know what I saw, I know what I felt. I wish… I wish I knew how to make you understand that. I know that my sisters and brother need me home." He rubbed at his temples. The action did nothing to ease his headache. He shook his head. "I'm sorry."

Tyrion's expression became sympathetic. "You have a lot on your mind."

Jon shook his head. "I… I can't do this right now, Tyrion. You're a good man, I know you are just trying to help. But I can't go over the same thing again and again, my brain doesn't work the way yours does. You need to give me some space." He turned his horse around and started riding down the line of men.

As he moved away he heard Jorah Mormont mutter. "So much like Eddard." But he ignored the comment.

Jon hadn't been riding down the line of men long when he saw Brienne of Tarth and Podrick, and just behind them Gendry and Sandor Clegane, The Hound. He slowed his horse, dismounting it when they had almost caught up with him. Brienne and Podrick nodded to him. He let them pass slipping into the line beside Gendry and leading his horse beside him. He walked beside them for a while in silence. Sandor Clegane gave Jon a sideways look then pulled a skin of wine from somewhere and shoved it at him.

"You look like you could use this."

Jon shook his head. "Thanks but no. However if you know how to make a Lannister shut up..."

Sandor laughed. "I don't have enough wine for that. But if you want me to kill him….or rip his tongue out…"

Jon shook his head. "Daenerys might not be too pleased with that." He took the outstretched skin and took a swig. Pulling a face he passed the skin back. "That's really bad."

"We could probably get better stuff at the crossroads." Gendry muttered. "And the best brown bread you have ever tasted if Hot Pie is still a cook there."

Jon glanced at Gendry. "You been this far north before, Gendry? I mean, apart from when we went to get the white…"

Gendry looked at him for a moment then nodded slowly. "Once," he muttered. "A few years ago."

Jon waited for him to say more but he didn't. "What happened?" Gendry's shoulders slumped. He just shook his head and kept walking. Jon watched a war of conflicting emotions rip across Gendry's face in a heartbeat. Pain, anger, sadness, regret… Gendry tried to shut his expression down, to make it stoic and unreadable, but the wistfulness and heartbreak in his eyes betrayed him, leaving him with a tortured look. Jon knew that reaction, that look, it was a look that he had seen far too many times when he was growing up.

The sourness of the bad wine was suddenly not the only cause for the bitter taste in Jon's mouth. The look on Gendry's face wasn't just any look, it was _the_ look. The look that had been Ned Stark's response to any question about Jon's mother. It was the look which said it hurt too much to talk about, hurt too much to think about. Suddenly Jon felt like a young boy again. He might as well have been standing in Winterfell, looking up at Ned Stark, begging to know his mother's name. That look was part of the reason that Catelyn Stark had hated him. Maybe it was even the reason Arya loved him? Jon suddenly regretted asking the question. The painful silence was finally broken by The Hound.

"I happened." Clegane shook his head. "Beric Dondarrion was just about to let the three of 'em go and I opened my big mouth."

Jon turned his attention to the larger man. "The three of them?"

Sandor Clegane cocked his head sideways to look at Jon. "You don't know then? I thought that was why he was with us, because of how he'd helped Arya. Maybe I should just keep my big ugly mouth shut."

"That would be good." Gendry muttered looking at his feet.

"Gendry? You know Ary?" Jon asked with surprise.

Gendry shook his head. "She went by Arry then. She'd cut her hair short and was trying to pass as a boy. She managed to fool most people, but I worked it out pretty quick. When you make armour for a living you learn how to see what's really underneath. Tobho Mott taught me that."

Gendry shook his head. "I didn't know who she was at first. But I knew she was in trouble. And that Needle you gave her was too good a blade to belong to a lowborn. I met her two days after Lord Stark… after his death."

Gendry turned a sideways look to Jon but wouldn't meet his gaze directly. Clearly the younger man was trying to decide if he was going to continue or leave the conversation there. Jon watched the play of emotions. Whatever had happened was difficult for him to talk about. After a short silence Gendry spoke again, a heavy bitterness in his voice.

"Two years," He muttered, "two years I helped her hide her identity and tried to keep her safe. She's the bravest person I ever met. Some of the things she's seen, some of the things she survived…." Gendry seemed caught in painful memories for a moment. He shook his head as if trying to clear it. "Gold cloaks, Lannister's, the Mountain… we escaped them all... Then in eight words _he_ put her in danger." The look that Gendry shot The Hound at the word _he_ was filled with pain and anger.

Regret passed across Clegane's face. "I'm a shit of a man, you should know that by now, Waters. But I did try and help her. Does it count that I saved her from the Red Wedding?"

"I wouldn't think so," Gendry replied. "You're still on her list."

"What list?" Jon asked but his question was lost by the Hound's reply.

"Actually she took me off."

Gendry stopped suddenly and spun around to look at him. "I don't believe you."

Sandor Clegane gave a sarcastic smirk. "I saved her life a couple of times and helped her get her Needle back. Maybe it doesn't make up for making her lose somebody she considered a brother, but it's got to make up for something. If you don't believe me you can ask her when you get to Winterfell."

Gendry shook his head. "Mi'lady never considered me brother… friend maybe, but not a brother."

Sandor's reply was so quick it was as if he had been waiting to say the words since they left the Wall. "Why'd she offer to be your family then?"

Gendry froze. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath then walked up to the larger man, stopping only when there was less than an inch between them. "Why do you even care?"

The two locked eyes, neither looking away. Finally Sandor replied. "Because that's what she does, she makes people care." Jon watched as Sandor studied the smaller man thoughtfully. "You're braver than you used to be, that's good. Maybe now you can keep that promise you made her." Sandor moved his eyes to Brienne and Podrick who had witnessed the whole exchange. "What do the pair of you think you're looking at?"

There were so many thoughts rushing through Jon's head he could barely grab hold of them. Arya had been this far north years ago, she had nearly gotten home. Gendry knew her, was protective of her. The Hound was protective of her. Arya had been at, and escaped, the Red Wedding. Jon looked from Gendry to Sandor and back again. How did Arya do it? How did she make everyone from the blacksmith to one of the most hated men in all of Westeros love her? Finally Jon settled on a question to ask.

"If Arya was this far north years ago where has she been since then?"

"Bravos." Sandor replied. "She said there was someone there who was willing to train her. And where else would a water dancer go to train?"

Gendry suddenly paled. "That invitation didn't come from a sword of Bravos, it came from a Faceless Man. I hope she didn't find him."

More questions swarmed Jon's mind. Water dancer? Faceless man? Sword of Bravos? What the hell had Arya been up to all of these years? Before Jon could even try and ask these questions they were interrupted by Ser Davos riding hurriedly in their direction.

"Mi'Lord! Mi'Lord, you need to come quickly." There was a look of worry on Ser Davos' face as he brought his horse to a halt in front of Jon.

Jon sighed. "What is it now?"

"Lady Lyanna Mormont." Davos replied, "She's here, ridden straight from Winterfell by the looks of her horse." Even more concern furrowed his wrinkled brow. "And she won't talk to anybody but you."

Jon quickly mounted his horse and rode back to the front at a gallop. Even before he reached his destination he could feel the tension in the air. Daenerys and the young lady of house Mormont were at a standoff.

Lyanna was still mounted on her horse, a bow and quiver on her back and a sword at her side. Her harsh black dress had been replaced by an equally harsh looking riding outfit. Her dark hair was in a stern braid. The reigns of her horse were held loosely in her left hand, sword hand looking ready to move to her blade if required. But it was not Daenerys her eyes were locked with, it was Jorah Mormont.

Jorah stood two steps ahead of Daenerys, his hand on the hilt of his sword. He met his young cousin's gaze, but where her face was stern, his was wary.

Jon intentionally rode his horse between them, bringing it to a stop in front of Lyanna. He knew that Daenerys would not be happy with his actions but one problem at a time.

"Lady Mormont." He greeted her.

"Your Grace." She replied, a hit of defiance in her eyes.

Jon shook his head. "You didn't nearly kill your horse riding south alone to argue politics, Lyanna, what's happened?"

The young bear met his gaze. "The Wall has fallen."

Jon nodded. "I know… I…"

"You felt it." Lyanna replied. It was a statement, not a question.

"You felt it too?"

Lyanna shook her head. "The blood of Bran the Builder doesn't flow through my veins." She replied. "But Arya…"

Concern filled Jon, he knew how terrible that night had been. It had been as if something inside him had been torn apart when the Wall broke. "What happened?" he asked with dread.

"She screamed so loud the walls of Winterfell seemed to shake. And Sansa, I have never seen her so pale."

"And Bran?"

"Bran is not quite the brother you remember. I know he felt it, but I do not know what it did to him. It is Arya that you should be worried about. She's riding north." Lyanna produced a parchment. "She wrote you this."

Jon took the parchment nervously.

 _Jon,_

 _The Wall has fallen, the dead are coming. They have a dragon._

 _I will do what I can to buy you the time you need. Lyanna Mormont has given me 20 men, I will gather what else I can along the way. I cannot wait for the other lords to finish arguing. We need to move. We need Dragonglass._

 _An army moves as fast as its slowest man. Ask our queen to split her army. Keep the unsullied at your back. Watch your flanks. Don't trust any promise from Cersei, she will betray you, she is as cunning and dangerous as Tywin was. Have the Dathraki Horse Lords ride ahead. They may not be used to the snow but they are better than any riders that Westeros has ever known. Get the Dragons to Winterfell. The Freys are gone. The Lady of the bridge will let you pass. Lyanna knows the words to use._

 _You have to let me do this, Jon. You can't come after me. Without you there the northern Lords will not hold to your word. You had hardly been gone when some of them were already trying to convince Sansa to betray you and let them make her queen of the north. Lyanna will tell you who you can trust.. Petyr Baelish is no longer a concern._

 _I love you and I miss you. There is so much I wish I had the time to tell you. I can do this._

 _Your dark sister, Arya._

~~/~~


	3. Part 3

Part 3:

Arya looked around at the village elders. This was the third village that they had come to since they had left the reach of the house of Stark, the third village that had not received any warning that the Wall had fallen. Sansa would have sent ravens by now, the Lords would know, the Lords were failing their people.

"You have a choice." She said slowly, her eyes moving from tired face to tired face. "You are the leaders here. You are the people this village trusts. Not some Lord, or Lady, that has never stepped foot here. Not someone who has never been hungry one day in their life."

"Have you ever been hungry, Lady Stark?" A man of about forty years challenged her.

She turned slowly to the man that had spoken. "What is your name?" She asked.

She took a moment to really look at the man. He stood just over six feet tall. His shoulders were wide and strong, his arms heavily muscled. His dark hair was cut short, and he was clean shaven, despite the bite of winter in the air. His hands were calloused and scared, a recent burn mark near his left wrist. Black soot showed underneath his short fingernails.

"Rodrik Forgestone."

"Blacksmith, yes?" She asked.

"Yes," The man nodded. "We have been the smiths of this village for over ten generations."

Arya nodded and considered her answer. "Then you know how good steel is made. It needs to be tempered. It needs heat, and cold, it needs to be beaten. To be forced from its raw form into something new."

Rodrik Forgestone nodded. Arya knew he understood what she was saying. She kept her eyes focused on him, as if he was the only person in the room, in the world. If she could just get this one man, this blacksmith, to listen to her then maybe she could help this whole village. Maybe she could convince them to fall back to Winterfell.

"I have suffered heat and cold. I have been hungry. I have been beaten. I have been a beggar on the streets. I almost forgot who I am. I almost broke. But I am castle forged steel. I am a Stark of Winterfell. I have been forged, and now it is time for me to test my metal. Send runners to the other villages. Tell them what is coming. Tell them a small force are going north to try and buy them time. Tell them to send runners to other villages and to fall back to Winterfell. I do not know if I am the blade that will slow the passage of the Night King, but I will try."

Rodrik Forgestone continued to meet Arya's gaze. "Not alone, you won't. You need more fighters."

"Volunteers only." Arya replied. "The rest fall back to Winterfell. The crypts alone could hold over ten thousand if we have to. Sansa will find space for them. Take what food you can but move with as much speed as you can muster. Livestock moves itself, grain must be carried."

Rodrik met her gaze. "I'm volunteering."

"We're not heroes, Rodrik Forgestone, they won't be writing songs about us. We don't even know if our actions will make much difference."

"I said, I'm volunteering."

Arya smiled. "Good. I've missed having a blacksmith at my side."

~~/~~

Daenerys re-read the note.

 _The Wall has fallen, the dead are coming. They have a dragon._

She glanced at Jon who was out of earshot, talking with Lyanna Mormont. Every now and then the young bear would look over at her cousin, Jorah, then back at Jon. Daenerys re-read the letter again then shot a cold look at Tyrion and Varys. "Maybe I should have made this Arya Stark my General. What do you know about her?"

"Not much," Tyrion replied. "She was ten, maybe eleven, when she left Winterfell. She somehow escaped the Kings Guard and disappeared out of Kings Landing the day Robert Baratheon died. Until about a month ago most people believed she was dead."

"Is it really her then?"

Tyrion nodded. "Sansa would know her own sister. Arya is very… distinctive."

Daenerys turned her gaze to Varys. "And you? You lived in the Red Keep with her for however long, what do you know?"

Varys shook his head. "There isn't really much to say. She was just a young girl who refused to behave like a Lady. She dressed like a boy. She was never around." Varys frowned. "Her father hired Syrio Forel to be her water dancing teacher."

"Water dancing?" Daenerys didn't see how dancing was important.

"It's a type of sword fighting, your grace, it's all about being observant and not getting hit. I never cared too much for it myself. She never really seemed worth paying attention to." Varys' eyes suddenly widened. "My gods, she managed to make me ignore her, the girl really is clever."

"May I, your grace?" Tyrion reached his hand towards the note. Daenerys handed it over and he re-read it for what must have been the sixth or seventh time. "The Freys are gone… Petyr Baelish is no longer a concern… those two lines worry me. If she has managed to do all that then why did she leave Winterfell with only 20 men?"

Jon and Lyanna started slowly walking back towards them. Daenerys eyes moved from Jorah and then to Jon in question but Jon's expression gave nothing away. It was clear that this young girl had Jon's respect, he treated her as an equal. When Daenerys had first taken control of the Dothraki Hoard she had thought that one of her biggest challenges would be that she was a female leader, she had thought that it made her unique, but she was finding more and more that this wasn't the case.

Lyanna stopped about 6 steps away from Daenerys, the air around them full of tension. The young bear held the gaze of the mother of dragons and slowly bent the knee.

"Bear Island has held faith with the house of Stark for over a thousand years," She spoke calmly. "Today that means I bend the knee. It does not mean I forgive Jorah Mormont, he has brought disgrace to our house. I am told he has done many good things since, but the penalty for his crime is still death. Jon has convinced me to allow Jorah to try and re-find his honour by finding a good death in battle against the Night King. A trial by combat if you will. If he survives, then we will talk about if he can ever return to Bear Island."

Daenerys nodded. "And if I order you to forgive him?"

Lyanna's gaze never wavered. "If you speak the words then I will obey, in word at least."

Daenerys turned her attention to Jon. "Are all northern women this stubborn?" she asked.

Jon shook his head. "No, your Grace, some are worse."

She returned her gaze to the young bear. "You are young, and you are tired, you have ridden far. I will take these as the reasons for your rudeness and forgive you. Ever challenge me like that again and I will not be so forgiving. You are dismissed." She glanced at Jon. "Both of you are dismissed, I have horse Lords to speak with."

~~/~~


	4. Part 4

Part 4:

Gendry watched as the Dothraki road off at speed. He let his eyes pass over the scene before him. Daenerys Targaryen stood a little forward of the main farewell party. Her silver hair and grey and white winter coat making her stand out and look separate, detached, like a being from some strange place that had wandered where it didn't belong. It was intentional of course, a need to show everybody that she was different. An unnatural beauty.

Jon Snow was just the opposite. He and Lyanna Mormont stood a little back and to the right, Jon had insisted that they stand side by side, much to Daenerys' disapproval. Both northerners were dressed in black fur cloaks. They looked like they belonged, the North knew them, not just the people of the North but the North itself. The land, the air, the trees, they were a part of it, they had been forged by it. Davos stood a couple of steps back and to Jon's left. Brienne of Tarth and Sandor Clegane a few steps behind them like a noble guard.

Slowly Gendry let his eyes move to Tyrion, Varys, and Jorah Mormont who were stationed equal to Jon and Lyanna but to the left. Three more uncomfortable men you couldn't find. His eyes shifted across the gap between the three men and Daenerys to where Missandei stood. She was calm and collected, her face unreadable as that of a Faceless man.

"You want to go with them, don't you?" Podrick asked. "You want to go help Lady Arya, or bring her back… Or convince her to let you take her place."

Gendry nodded. He watched as the Horse Lords disappeared into the distance with over half of their Dragonglass.

Podrick looked thoughtful for a moment. "What's stopping you? You could grab a horse right now. Ride as fast as you could -"

"Right. With no food, no money, no Valyrian steel, no Dragonglass… all to catch up with somebody who was a better fighter when she was eleven than I am now. Mi'Lady would be so busy trying to save my ass she would get herself killed."

Podrick looked at him for a long moment then shook his head. "And if you never see her again?"

Gendry sighed. "What am I even going to do if I do see her again? I'm a bastard, lowborn, it doesn't matter who my father was." Suddenly he was angry. "I'm not as lucky as Jon Snow, my father never came to claim me even though we lived in the same city most of my life. I never even met him."

Podrick turned and looked at him, really looked at him. "My gods," He muttered "You have noble blood?"

"It doesn't matter." Gendry replied.

Podrick was shaking his head. "It does, is you Father still alive? You could be named, you could ask Queen Daenerys…"

"No." Gendry replied firmly. "I have no claim to stake. It doesn't matter who's bastard I am. You can't tell anyone, you'll get me killed."

"Does Jon know?"

Gendry nodded. He could feel the burn of tears in his eyes. Podrick was a good man but this wasn't a conversation he wanted to have. "Can we change the subject?"

Podrick nodded, he looked around as if trying to find something else to talk about. After a long silence he looked up at the dragons circling above. "What would you do if you had a dragon right now?" He asked.

Gendry gave Podrick a half smile. "That's easy, I'd get as many good fighters as I could fit on it with as much Dragonglass as they could carry and fly north until I found her." He looked and Podrick. "You?"

Podrick shrugged. "I've never been to Qohor."

Gendry looked at Podrick in surprise. "Of all the places you could have chosen why Qohor?"

Podrick shrugged. "It seems so different from everything I know, I mean sure, I've heard the stories about the City of Sorcerers, but it's the gateway to the East, and from what I've heard about the artisans…" Podrick shrugged.

Gendry shook his head. "You don't want to go to Qohor."

Podrick gave Gendry a sceptical look. "And how would you know?"

Gendry looked at the ground. "Tobho Mott's from Qohor." He said softly. "From how he told it… you don't want to go there."

Podrick frowned. "Tobho Mott? Who is he?"

Gendry felt his lips twist into something between a sneer and a grimace. "He is one of only three Black Smiths in all of Westeros known to be able to rework Valyrian Steel. I was his apprentice… until he got tired of me and sold me to the Watch just after King Robert died."

"Wait, so you're a noble's bastard, you had one of the most promising apprenticeships in all of Westeros, and you were sent to the one place that a King shouldn't be able to touch you after Robert Baratheon died? Did it ever occur to you that your master was trying to protect you? Maybe he knows who your father is?"

Gendry sighed. "You call that changing the subject?"

Podrick gave Gendry an apologetic look. "Sorry. So…. Can _you_ rework Valyrian steel?" he asked cautiously.

"Maybe." Gendry replied. "I think I understand the concept of how it's supposed to be done… but Valyrian isn't exactly readily available to practice on." He looked up at the dragons. "Having one of them help would make it interesting."

~~/~~

Sansa stood at the top of the wall and watched as the people, animals, and wagons poured into Winterfell. In just under two weeks Arya had sent her more food than the Northern Lords had sent in three months, yes, there were more mouths to feed, but the odds were starting to look better. Every cart was stacked with hay for the cattle, sheep and goats. Every person that came through the gate was prepared to earn their keep. Every village elder she spoke to had stories of Arya's growing army and strong leadership.

Who would have thought that a childhood of befriending maids, cooks, and butcher boys would have served Arya so well?

Sansa looked up at the sound of footsteps and saw Lord Yohn Royce of the Vale approaching. "Lord Royce." She greeted as he came closer.

The old general nodded at her greeting. "Lady Stark, you grandfather used to like to stand here too when he was Lord of Winterfell. He used to say it was the most public way to be private."

Sansa nodded. "It's not a place you are likely to get overheard." She gestured to the continuous line of traffic pouring south towards the gates. "It's quite a sight, isn't it, we'll be as packed as King's Landing soon."

Lord Royce allowed himself to take the sight in for a minute. "Never thought I would see it at Winterfell, that's for sure." He paused, seeming to struggle to find the words he wanted. "It sounds like your sister is building an army on cow herds and blacksmiths."

Sansa smiled. "Don't forget the cooks and butcher boys. They say she's over a thousand strong now?"

Lord Royce nodded. "They say it. But how many of them do you think can count that high?"

"And she's only taking volunteers?" Sansa questioned.

"That's what they say."

"She has a way of inspiring devotion amongst the lowborn, she always has." Sansa said thoughtfully. "Every cook, every cow herd, every butcher boy or blacksmith that has chosen to follow her, they will be willing to die for her. They may not have training but they will fight hard. She's always been that way. She doesn't even realise what she's doing, but she will make every one of them love her."

"How?" Lord Royce asked.

"I don't know." Sansa replied. "But she's devoted to Jon, if she does survive, she might just bring him back the most loyal army any Lord has ever seen."

"And if Jon doesn't survive?" Lord Royce asked.

She liked Lord Royce, he was a sharp thinker, and he would be Lord of the Vale until Robin Arryn came of age. If Robin Arryn came of age. "Would you back her for the Iron throne and me for Queen of the North?"

She let him study her as he considered his answer. "Why not you for the Iron throne?"

"Why did Stannis hold Dragonstone instead of pushing for Kings Landing himself?"

"Because the people loved Robert." She saw the thoughts ticking over in his head. "Tactically it was smarter to support his brother's claim. But marrying didn't make him any less a Baratheon. If you or Lady Arya marry you would no longer be Starks."

"Arya has never wanted to marry a Lord. I think she would be very happy to marry below her station." Sansa replied with confidence. She felt a smirk pull at her lips. "I bet there's already at least one bastard out there somewhere who thinks he's in love with her."

"And you?" Lord Royce pressed.

Sansa paused. Were they really having this conversation? "You know I love Jon dearly, yes?"

"Of course, Lady Stark. But if something happens there won't be time to discuss tactics, we will have to move quickly."

"I don't expect to marry again. The first one was a sham, and the second one… well. I understand the need for heirs but any bastard can be legitimised if required."

"And if you had to marry?" Lord Royce pushed.

"What do you think of Podrick Payne?"

"He seems kind, loyal, and completely lacking in ambition." Lord Royce replied with approval.

Sansa nodded. "I do hope you have somebody you trust keeping a good watch on our young Robin Arryn, I worry for him. He doesn't seem quite right in the head and his obsession with the moon door scares me."

~~/~~


	5. Part 5

Part 5:

Time was no longer a valid concept. The sun hadn't risen in days, maybe weeks, and the long night had begun. Arya had very quickly become grateful of Lyanna Mormont's gift. The men of Bear Island were good generals. As their ranks had swelled Arya had quickly realised the need to split the duties into groups, she had gathered the men of house Mormont together and asked for their advice on the best way to do so, in turn learning each man's strengths and strategies. The logistics of moving a large army was not a lesson that she had learnt from Twyin Lannister, but knowing when to delegate was.

Many of the volunteers were young and unskilled. Arya had been unwilling to take many of the younger ones but they were insistent. After some discussion it had been decided that anyone under the age of eight had to go to Winterfell and anyone under the age of twelve needed parental consent. If there was no parent to give consent they had to speak with Arya personally for her to decide. When it had been argued that twelve namedays was too young Arya had simply pointed out that Lyanna Mormont had only had twelve namedays, and Ned Umber had only had ten. She had then mentioned that she had first blooded Needle when she was eleven, on the day that Robert Baratheon had died. It was because of these rules that she currently had a group of seven boys and four girls waiting to talk to her.

Arya walked towards the fire slowly. She had given Rodrik Forgestone the job of rounding up anybody that looked too young and bringing them to her attention. This was his latest find. They all looked dirty, hungry, and angry. They all had defiance in their eyes, they all expected that she would try and send them away. She wondered if this was how she had first looked to Gendry?

"Okay." She said as she approached the group. "This is how it is going to work. Rodrik is going to make sure each one of you gets some food. You will sit here by this fire and eat it. One by one I will take each of you aside and speak with you. Whatever decisions are made once I talk to you are final. You will each be given a chance to explain why you should be allowed to stay." She studied each face carefully, seeing who would meet her gaze and who would not. The one that held her gaze the longest was a blonde haired girl of about nine years old.

Arya waited until everybody had been given food. Most of them started eating but the blonde girl simply put her food down beside her.

"What is your name?" Arya asked her.

"Erenella." The girl replied. There was no courtesy, no acknowledgement that she was speaking to a noble. Arya liked her already.

"Okay, Erenella, I see you are volunteering to go first?" The girl simply nodded. Arya stood up and the girl followed suit. "Let's walk. Bring your food with you."

They walked in silence for a long while. They walked past groups of people making touches, training, cooking food.

"Everyone has a job, a purpose, everyone is trying to do something to help. Our intent is to try and slow the Night King down. But we are not going to defeat him. We are going to lose. We are not the main army. The dead will overwhelm us with their numbers. Our weapons will break. Our best defence against them is fire. We are going to fight the dead with fire, and rocks, and sticks and stones. I am told my sword might last three, maybe four blows. After that I will be fighting with a dagger." She pulled the small blade from her waist and handed it to Erenella. "Dragonglass and Valyrian steel. I will have to get very close to be able to use this. How many to you think I will stop before I die?"

Erenella took the blade and turned it over in her hands thoughtfully, she handed it back to Arya. "I don't know."

Arya nodded. "If you follow me I can offer only death. There will be no glory. Nobody will remember your name or write songs about you. You will become nothing. Why follow me? Why not retreat to Winterfell?"

"Because I would rather die fighting than die running."

Arya nodded. "I can respect that. What are your skills? Can you fight, can you cook? How do you best serve?"

"My father was a fletcher." Erenella answered. "I can make arrows, weave, cook, I can make better touches than they are making." She nodded to a group to their left.

Arya raised an eyebrow at the comment. "Prove it."

Three hours later Arya had found a job for every one of the children who had been sitting around the fire. In her heart she had already known that she was not able to turn any of them away now. They were too far from Winterfell for that. She returned to the fire that Rodrik Forgestone now sat at alone. Wordlessly he handed her a bowl of food. The food tasted bad, but it was hot. She gazed into the fire and tried not to think as she ate. Finally she broke the silence.

"If you survive this, what will you tell people about me?" She asked.

"That you are a Stark of Winterfell." Rodrik replied. "That, like your father, you were forced into a situation beyond your control and did your best. That you don't make promises you can't keep. That you judge people on their actions, not their age or birthrank. And that you were worth following."

"I will do my best to live up to that." Arya replied.

Rodrick shook his head. "You already have, Lady Stark." He paused and looked at her carefully. "My turn for a question."

Arya turned from the fire and put her food down. "I will do my best to give you an honest answer."

"The day we first met you told me you had missed having a blacksmith by your side. How many blacksmiths have you gone through?"

"You are my second, the first one's name was Gendry. He was a good friend, loyal, kind. He was taken away from me by bad people. I was outnumbered. I could not protect him. I do not know if he is alive or dead."

~~/~~

Sansa pulled her cloak tighter around her as she crossed the main front courtyard. The snow had been cleared. The courtyard was packed with lines of nobles and others waiting for the Arrival of Daenerys and Jon. Many of the northern houses south of Winterfell had joined the army on it's slow march north. Her mind drifted back to the last time Winterfell had seen such a performance. Had it really been seven years since that fateful day that they had prepared for the arrival of King Robert Baratheon? Bran moved slowly beside her in his wheeled chair.

"You can almost hear Father asking where Arya is." Bran said thoughtfully, as if echoing her thoughts.

"She's run off somewhere to play knight again." Sansa replied.

"No." Bran answered. "She's not playing. She's doing very well."

"You've seen her?" Sansa asked softly.

Bran nodded. "I've been keeping an eye on her. And on other things. She hasn't reached the fighting yet and the Dothraki aren't far behind her now. Their horses are not doing well with the snow though. The dead have taken Last Hearth. Ned Umber and about thirty others escaped. Arya will find them soon."

Sansa nodded, she pushed all expression from her face and her voice. "Let's go welcome our new Queen."

"Sansa," Bran reached his hand out to touch her arm, stopping her. "You are aware that Tyrion will be with her?"

"Yes." Sansa answered sharply.

Bran nodded. "There are things that I would tell you, but it's not my place. If he asks for the opportunity to speak with you give it to him. Hear him out. Your marriage may have been a sham but he has never broken the promises that he made to you that day. He has never lain with a woman since the day he was told he was to marry you, not even his lover, Shae. That's why she betrayed him."

Sansa just looked at him. "You choose now to have this conversation? We don't have time."

"I know." Bran replied. "We don't have time for any of it." A horn blew in the distance. "They're here, we better get to our places."

~~/~~


	6. Part 6

Part 6:

Arya couldn't decide what was worse, the screams of the living or the silence of the dead. The forest smelt like Harrenhal, it reeked of shit and death. Funny how nobody ever talks about the fact that people shit themselves when they die. Most people were wielding touches as weapons, some had burning branches. But the flames hurt the living as much as the dead. Blood dripped down Arya's hand from where Needle had cut her as it had shattered. The blood leaving the Dragonglass hilt of her dagger red.

She ducked one strike, dodged another, and landed her blade in another white. Where it fell two more appeared from behind it. She could feel herself slowing down. She was getting tired. There was no time to think about what anybody else was doing. She moved deeper into the enemy's ranks. Trying to get to the ones that controlled them. Suddenly she came face to face with a black armoured walker. This was more than simply an undead wright. There was flesh on his bones, if it could be called flesh, there was understanding and intelligence in his eyes. An ice blade in his hand. He opened his mouth and a sound like screaming wind came out, yet somehow she was sure she heard the word "Stark."

Her mind answered instantly. Before she could comprehend what she was doing she had answered the screaming howl with a wolf's howl. She dodged three strikes but her own blow also missed, she dodged twice more before her blade hit home. She watched her blood slowly dripping along the Valyrian steel as the white walker shattered like glass. Hundreds of whites dropped to the ground as it fell.

She howled again, her eyes sweeping the ranks for her next target. Her howl was answered by a chorus of direwolves. She looked up, expecting to see Nymeria, but it was Ghost who lead the wolves coming to her aid. The army of the dead dropped back but Arya had found her second wind. She knew how to fight them now. Her eyes focused on another of the black armoured walkers. She was about to charge when a sudden wind seemed to come out of nowhere and the sound of enormous wings filled the air.

"Dragon!" Somebody yelled. "Dragon, take cover!"

People were starting to panic. Arya opened her mouth, trying to speak, but all that passed her lips was another wolf howl. She tried again, forcing her mind to make words that humans could understand as Ghost brought an army of direwolves closer.

"Get on the direwolves!" she finally managed to yell. "Get on the direwolves!"

As Ghost came closer she grabbed onto his back, hoisting herself up and hoping against hope that others would do the same. Rodrik was the first to listen, he reached out to a sooty black wolf that was larger than most, the wolf allowed him on its back. He reached a long arm out and grabbed a young boy, pulling him on the wolf as well.

Dirty blonde hair caught Arya's attention, she reached out, barely grabbing Erenella's arm in time. The girl scrambled onto Ghost and held on tightly to Arya's waist. As the dragon got closer more and more people decided to risk it with the direwolves. Arya clung tightly to Ghost and buried her face in his fur. She didn't know where he was taking her and she didn't care. He felt like home. It never even crossed her mind that he might not be able to outrun a dragon. Somewhere in the distance she could hear the sound of horses. The turbulence in the air seemed to change but Arya kept her face firmly pressed against Ghost. She didn't look up once, not even when she heard the sound of horses screaming.

~~/~~

Sandor Clegane watched Tyrion pretend not to watch Sansa Stark. His eyes moved across the Great Hall to where Lady Brienne and Podrick were seated. Brienne met his gaze and a moment of understanding seemed to pass between them. She didn't like it either. Gendry didn't know all of the history but between Sandor and Podrick he had gotten most of it. Of course Clegane thought the worst of Tyrion and Podrick thought the best of him so they were very conflicting stories.

Gendry was still trying to work out how he had even ended up in the Great Hall. The first time Clegane had just placed a hand in the middle of his back and said "Come on." The doors had shut before Gendry had realised that he and Podrick were the only lowborns in the room that were not servants, well excluding Ser Davos. Clegane had come for Gendry every supper time since. One of the other blacksmiths had asked once what made him so special. Clegane had simply looked the man in the eye and stated that Gendry was Arya's blacksmith. The question was never asked again.

Gendry had made a decision after their conversation on the road about Lady Arya. He was not going to refer to Sandor Clegane as the Hound anymore, not even in his thoughts. Ever since he had started using Sandor's name the man had started treating him better. The more experienced man had even started training him, sometimes with Lady Brienne and Podrick's help. It was good, but it was also starting to get a lot of attention.

Gendry felt an elbow in the rib and realised that he had been lost in thought. He looked at Clegane in surprise.

"Our queen is trying to talk to you."

Gendry turned his gaze to the high table, a knot of fear in his gut. He stood slowly. "Forgive me, your grace, I…?"

"Gendry Waters, isn't it?" Queen Daenerys asked.

"Yes, your grace."

"And you are Arya Stark's blacksmith?"

Gendry nodded slowly. "Yes your grace." His eyes moved to Jon and then back to Daenerys.

"But you went north of the Wall with Jon."

Gendry swallowed hard. This was not good. "Yes your grace."

"Explain that to me."

"I... I helped Lady Arya hide her identity for two years after she escaped Kings Landing." He replied slowly. "I thought she didn't need me after the crossroads. She was so close to getting back to her brother, King Rob, and her mother." He glanced at Sandor Clegane. "And she had better fighters to help her by then."

"So you're not her blacksmith because of your skills as a blacksmith?"

Before Gendry could reply Podrick stood up. "He is a very good blacksmith, you grace, he was trained by Tobho Mott."

"And who is Tobho Mott?" Daenerys questioned.

The knot in Gendry's stomach grew tighter. Before he could find the words to answer Lady Brienne stood up. "Tabho Mott is one of the best blacksmiths in all of Westeros, possibly the best blacksmith in all of Westeros. He is one of only three known to be able to re-forge Valyrian steel. My blade was re-forged by him and my armour carries his maker's mark."

Daenerys seemed satisfied with that answer. "Good." She said. "I need some armour." She returned her attention to Gendry. "Will you make it for me?"

Gendry bowed deeply. "If I may be so bold, you grace, standard armour is heavy and would be dangerous on dragon-back. You would be better with stylised chain than plate. Or a combination of both. I could draw up some ideas for you, based on what I've heard of what your ancestors used to wear. But you would be better of letting a chain specialist make the bulk of it. I could oversee the making."

"You should have time to be able to make me a blade as well then." Daenerys replied. Clearly she had no understanding of how much work that would take.

Gendry just nodded. "Yes your grace." He spent the rest of the meal wishing he was invisible. An hour later he was sitting on his cot in the barracks with a piece of charcoal and a scrap of leather when Ser Davos came looking for him.

Ser Davos took one look around at the shared accommodation and shook his head. "Well this won't do, this won't do at all. You can't design armour for a queen here. Grab your things."

"Huh...What?" Gendry looked up at him in confusion.

"C'mon lad, grab your things. We're getting you a room."

~~/~~


	7. Part 7

Part 7:

The screams of horses had died out quickly. Arya could only guess that it had been the Dothraki. The dragon must have seen them as a bigger threat, giving the pack a chance to escape. She didn't know how long the direwolves had been running. After a while she had lifted her head up from Ghost's fur and stated to pay attention. They were heading north, towards the wall. She ignored the wetness on her back and the sobbing girl clinging to her. Slowly she began to look around. What she had first thought to be fifty or sixty direwolves was actually hundreds. They had concealed themselves in the woods, making it hard for her to get any idea of their numbers. The dragon must have underestimated them as well. She tried to gage how many of her people were still alive but it was impossible to tell. She would have to wait until they stopped.

The direwolves were sticking to the thickest parts of the forest, there were no roads or paths here, no signs of human life at all. Slowly a clearing came into view with a Weirwood tree on a high mound in the centre of it. The tree was much smaller than the one at Winterfell, but unmistakable all the same. They were approaching it from the side that the face had been carved into.

The direwolves came to a stop in the clearing, their weary and injured passengers dismounting. As if by unspoken arrangement the wolves withdrew to the cover of the trees setting up a perimeter. Arya noticed some people eyeing the trees and the wolves and sighed.

"If you need to relive yourself, go." She yelled. "The wolves will not attack you." She didn't wait to see who listened, instead making her way across the heavy snow towards the Weirwood.

Arya's mind drifted back to Winterfell. She remembered how her father used to clean his sword by the Weirwood, at the black pool which never froze. She remembered sitting under it talking with him when she was little. She remembered trying to climb it and getting yelled at by Septa Mordane. She remembered standing under it as Bran gave her the dagger that now hung by her side. She remembered going to it after executing Petyr Baelish and slowly cleaning her blade, as her father had always done.

Her finger tips ran across the bark of the tree and for a moment she could have been back home at Winterfell, back in the time before King Robert came, before Jon had gone to the Wall. What if King Robert had never come? What if the Starks had been left in peace? What if her Father had said no to her mother's demand that Jon join the Watch and let him stay?

She noticed the dried blood on her hand, a reminder of a bitter reality. King Robert would have still died, the Lannister's would have still gone through with their plans. Joffrey would have still sent the Gold Cloaks after Gendry…. Gendry! She closed her eyes. She wondered if he had ever worked out who his father was.

They had still been at Harrenhal when she had finally worked it out. She had been sitting there, eating an apple by the forge, going over what Gendry had told her of his conversation with her father. She had been watching him, trying to work out why her father would have asked about his mum, why Jon Arryn before him, why Joffrey would want him dead? She watched him dip the tip of the sword he was forging into a bucket of water.

He had taken his shirt off due to the heat of the forge, and she wasn't ashamed to admit that she had been admiring the view. He swung the sword a couple of times but his stance was all wrong, she tried to correct him, to tell him to stand sideface. He'd looked up at her with a bewildered look, furrowing his brow he had question her. He'd looked around and then mocking asked if he was fighting someone, and in that instant it had all clicked into place.

They had bantered a moment longer but the actions had hit a connection in her. The shrug, the tone, the facial expression… she had seen it before. She knew right then that he was Robert Baratheon's son. He even had the same eyes. She might have told him if Jaqen H'ghar hadn't offered a distraction.

If the Starks had been left in peace it wouldn't have been for long, the Night King would have seen to that. Arya traced the carving of the face. She had lost so much, but if she was given a choice would she really sacrifice Gendry to get it back?

She pulled her hand away from the tree and turned her back on it. Slowly she sat, pressing her back against the tree trunk. She pulled her blade, scooping up a handful of snow in her other hand and carefully began to clean away the blood.

She could feel people watching her but she ignored them. Each movement was deliberate, almost ritualistic. Once her blade and scabbard were carefully cleaned she balanced one on each knee and began to slowly clean the blood away from her hand and wrist. The actions were familiar and calming. The snow was cold, but she didn't mind. She had never minded the cold, she was her father's child in that. How many times had she been scolded for running barefoot in the summer snows? How many times had she laughed at a shivering Jon as she and Bran had made snowballs to launch at Rob and Theon? And Sansa, oh how Sansa would shriek!

Still lost in memories Arya slowly put her dagger away and began to stand. Absently she steadied herself by placing her left hand against the tree, and as she did so a drop of blood tainted water came into contact with the bark. Her head spun as she felt a spark of connection. Blood. The tree wanted blood. It seemed to call to her.

Her mind had gone back to that strange place where it had been when she had howled at the white walker. She was aware of her actions but did not feel connected to them. She almost felt like she was watching herself from a distance as she pulled her blade, slit the palm of her right hand, and pushed it against the trunk of the tree. She was mesmerised by the trail of red running down the whiteness of the tree.

Somebody was yelling at her but it felt like they were far away. The ground rumbled and shuddered, a large patch of earth and snow falling away to her left to reveal a cave under the tree. There was hardly time for her to see that the opening was carved rock, or that the symbols at the top of the arch were a direwolf and a hammer - the mark for Bran the Builder - before her mind spiralled into darkness.

~~/~~


	8. Part 8

Part 8:

Eddison Tollett, acting Lord Commander of the Watch had been officially made the 999th Lord Commander two months after Jon Snow had left. A lot had changed since then. Wildlings were no longer blocked at the gate, 3 castles had been given to them so far. Edd had seen enough not to question the raven from Winterfell when it arrived. He had seen Jon dead, and seen him brought back. If a Stark was going to tell him that they knew part of the wall had fallen at Eastwatch because they, and their siblings, had seen it in a dream he was going to send men to check it out. Especially when the raven was from Sam.

The first lot of riders hand never returned, nor had the second. Ravens had no reply. Eventually Edd had decided to go himself. The first two parties had gone south of the Wall. Taking the letter as fact, and going against the advice of many, Edd took his party out the black gate and east along the north of the Wall.

They had found many groups of Wildlings along the way. Most had self-proclaimed green-seers or skin-changers who claimed that they had been contacted by an eagle. All spoke of the Wall having fallen. Some had wargs, skin-changers who could control direwolves, the wargs claimed that they could no longer control the great wolves. The wargs told stories of a great She-wolf with a human sister who had come for their companions and was resistant to their abilities. The wargs claimed the She-wolf had given them visions of her human sister and sent them south to help her. They all described a black haired women with eyes that changed with her mood. From Hornfoots to Cave people they all described the same woman, a woman with the look of a Stark.

Edd asked many times if a great white direwolf has been seen, but there was no news of Ghost. However his questions and his admittance of a friendship with a direwolf did gain his respect with the wildlings. He sent riders back to Castle Black, confirming that the wall had fallen and giving instructions for the full force of the Nights Watch, and any wildlings that choose to join them, to abandon the Wall and head south to aid in the fight.

It was with a heavy heart that Edd neared Eastwatch. He had 15 Crows and over four hundred Wildlings with him by now. It was one thing to be told that the Wall had fallen, but to see it… He was just thinking to himself that nobody could have survived this when a booming voice called out to him.

"Well you took your bloody time, didn't you?" Tormund Giantsbane bellowed. "We could have used your help a month ago." Tormund's gaze quickly moved to a warg that he clearly knew. "Want to tell me why the direwolves won't let us leave?"

"Because you didn't have your army yet." The warg replied. "But we're here now."

Edd looked around and realised that direwolves were everywhere. Why hadn't he noticed them before? "Is Ghost with them?" he asked.

Tormund shook his head. "No," He gestured to a large female wolf which had started slowly walking towards them. "But that one seems to be in charge."

Edd looked at the direwolf and swallowed hard. She did not look as friendly as Ghost. As the direwolf approached him he fought the urge to run. She was clearly an Alpha, a queen among wolves, so he did the only thing he could think of, he bent the knee. All of his men did the same, slowly so did the wildlings. There was a presence about her. The cold and his tiredness must have been playing with his eyes. For a moment he thought he saw the translucent image a young woman standing in the same space as the direwolf. Her dark hair was tied back in a half up fashion, a riding cloak over her right shoulder and a small dagger with a Dragonglass handle on her right hip. She reached her left hand out to him and suddenly he saw the image of a Weirtree. She opened her mouth as of to speak and he thought he heard a word whispered on the wind.

"Hurry."

He blinked and the woman was gone. The wolf backed up and he slowly rose to his feet. He noticed that the air was eerily still as he followed Tormund to the makeshift camp that they had made after the Night Kings attack. Edd noticed a man with an eye patch looking at him carefully as he approached the fire.

"You saw her, didn't you." The man asked.

Edd blinked. "Saw who?" he asked carefully.

"The black haired woman." The man replied. "She's Arya Stark."

"How can you be sure?" Edd asked.

The man gave a sad smile. "I'm sure. I'm on her list." He bowed with a flourish. "Beric Dondarrion of the Brotherhood without banners, I am at your service, Commander of the Watch."

~~/~~

Jamie Lannister looked up at the southern gate of the Twins and frowned at the young man looking down at him laughing. He adjusted himself on his horse and squared his shoulders.

"I don't see what's so funny." He called back. "I'm Jamie Lannister, and I need to talk to the Lord of the Crossing. Tell Walder Frey I'm here."

"The house of Frey is dead." The young man replied. "And if you don't leave the gate soon you will get to join them. The Lady of the Bridge denies you passage."

Jamie shook his head. "How?" He asked. "What happened here?"

The young man stood tall and proud. "The North remembers." He said, speaking the words as if they were house words. "Winter came for house Frey."

Jamie shook his head in shock. "Jon Snow? I didn't think he had it in him. How many men did it take?"

The young man laughed harder. "No men, mi'lord, just one woman. Leave one wolf alive and the sheep are never safe. Now, unless you're in a hurry to join them, you'd best be on your way."

Jamie turned his horse and started riding away from the gate, as he looked back he realised that the sigil had changed. It still had the two stone grey towers and bridge of the Twins, but now there was a black silhouette of a woman striding across it with one foot firmly planted on each tower.

He paused his horse and looked back, one last question on his lips. "What is the new house name?" He yelled.

"Sheepsbain." Was the yelled reply.

~~/~~


	9. Part 9

Part 9:

Arya drifted in and out of consciousness. She dreamt of Nymeria, of wildlings, of the Wall. She dreamt of the past. Sometimes Bran was there, explaining things to her, he explained about the truth of Jon, showed her his birth at the tower of Joy. He told her that Jon wasn't a bastard, and showed her the secret wedding. She heard Lyanna tell her father Jon's real name.

Other times Bran wasn't there. She dreamt of winters past, of Bran the Builder and a dozen other Brandon Stark's. She dreamt of the children of the forest, but in those dreams they knew that she was there and taught her things, told her some of their secrets. Confessed the making of the Night King and how something evil had taken up residence in that Heart Tree after that. They called her the Blood Wolf, and she knew that was her true name, Arya was a mask.

She awoke again. Erenella helped her stumble to the edge of the woods to relieve herself. She had made it halfway back across the clearing when her legs gave out. The cold of the snow felt good against her fevered skin. She was aware of somebody picking her up and carrying her back to the caverns under the Weirtree. A water skin was pushed to her lips and she managed to drink. Ghost tried to curl up beside her but she was burning up and pushed him away.

She dreamt of a troop of traveling actors, of a young boy with golden hair, streaked with silver, being sold to an older man. She saw the fear in his eyes but could not help him. She followed them. The man was a sorcerer who worshiped the god of fire. She could do nothing but watch the ritual as the boy was drugged and stripped. She watched in horror as his parts were cut off and thrown into the fire. She heard the sorcerer make his request and the fire's answer. Suddenly she knew this was young Varys. She saw him be cast into the street and left to die.

She dreamt of a great storm and the birth of a silver-haired baby girl at Dragonstone. The same storm, the same night, a woman with golden hair, streaked with silver, gave birth to a black-haired boy beside a forge fire in Kings Landing. The blacksmith delivered the babe himself and gave the woman his bed, promising her that he would help her protect her child. The woman, fearing that she would not live the night, confessed the truth of to the boy's parentage. Not only that he was Robert Baratheon's son, but that she was a Blackfyre.

The dream shifted and Arya found herself looking at the same woman, four or five years later, sick and dying. The young boy gripping his mother tightly, hungry and scared, and not knowing what to do.

"Gendry." Arya couldn't stop his name passing her lips. How she wanted to reach out to the boy and help him, but she couldn't. The last thing she expected was for him to hear her say his name. She was surprised when he turned and looked at her. If he could hear her she needed to help him! She gave him the only advice that she could think of. "Gendry, go to Tobho Mott. I'll find you."

"W-who are you?" The young Gendry asked in fear.

She gave him a sad smile. "No one," She replied. "I haven't been born yet. But I will be born soon, and I will find you when I'm older."

More dreams came and went. There was too much to remember, too much she had to learn. She dreamt of Bran the Builder again. She watched him planting a Weirwood tree and knew it was the one that her body was currently under. She was careful not to talk after the unintentional interaction with Gendry. When the tree was planted he turned and looked where she was standing.

"So you're the one I've built this for?" He asked.

Arya looked around to see who he was talking to but there was nobody else there. She looked back at him in surprise.

"Yes you." He said looking straight at her. "You are the one I'm talking to. You are a Stark, yes?"

Arya nodded. "I am a Stark of Winterfell."

Bran laughed. "Well, we'll let them all believe it's going to be a prince, shall we? You'll be safer if they don't know they're looking for a princess."

Arya smiled at her ancestor. "I'm not a princess, I'm a battle maiden."

Bran just nodded. "Aye, that you are. You should go now. No point getting stuck in the past, you have work to do."

The dream shifted and suddenly she was at the remains of Eastwatch. Seeing through Nymeria's eyes, hearing through Nymeria's ears. She saw a member of the Night's Watch surrounded by wildlings and heard him ask after Ghost. She went to investigate, as she drew close she could smell his fear. She watched him bend his knee, watched the other's copy him. She willed him to see her, as Gendry had done, as Bran the Builder had done, she reached out to him and willed him to understand where she was.

"Hurry." She said. He seemed to understand and the dream faded as her fever broke.

She lay on the floor looking up at the stone ceiling for a while. Ghost had curled up against her again and half climbed onto her lap, the giant direwolf still thought he was a puppy. She stroked her hand along his fur, still disorientated from the fever dreams. She moved to sit up and a large hand stilled her.

"Easy." Rodrik cautioned her. He helped her slowly move to a sitting position and gave her some water. "There's food, if you can eat. Your direwolves are good hunters, but I hope you like horse."

"Horse?" Arya raised an eyebrow in question.

Rodrik nodded, he gave her a half smile then his face turned serious. "They keep bringing us horses with saddlebags full of Dragonglass."

"I guess the Dothraki aren't doing too well then. How well are we doing?"

"We've lost about half our number, and half of what we have are injured." He gave her a weak smile. "But we have shelter where the Dragon can't see us, food, water, Dragonglass and an army of direwolves."

Arya shook her head and then immediately regretted the action. "That's not the army," she said quietly. "The army's coming. My wolf sister has been gathering them, they've just arrived at Eastwatch."

~~/~~


	10. Part 10

Part 10:

Jon stood on the battlements looking out at the line of people still pouring south to the gates. There had been no more sightings of Arya's Army in over a week but this was still her doing. Every village she had stopped at had sent out riders. Every village the riders had reached had sent more riders. It was a chain affect and a very effective tactic. The people had risen up to save themselves instead of waiting for their Lords. Jon was both proud of the people and disappointed at the Lords. But mostly he was proud of Arya.

He carefully pulled out the note that Arya had written him and re-read it. The parchment was worn and the ink was smudged from being handled so many times. The note had passed through so many sets of hands since Lyanna had given it to him that he had quickly lost track of it. It had only been through Ser Davos' intervention that he had gotten it back a few days later. When he had asked Ser Davos why the man had simply shrugged and said that he thought the note itself might mean something more to him than the words on the page. As he held this tiny piece of Arya in his hands he couldn't be more thankful to Ser Davos.

Arya's hand writing hadn't improved much, nor had her spelling, a small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth as he looked at how she had spelt Dothraki. Close, but not correct. Yet she could spell the name of every battle maiden in every history book that she had ever read, and quite a few dragon names besides.

When Lyanna had first told him that Arya was riding north he had believed that she had no idea what she was doing. There was no way that she could stop the Night King. He had held onto that notion until the day that he had returned to Winterfell. He replayed the argument that he had had with Sansa in his head.

"How could you let her go?!" he had yelled at Sansa once the formalities were done and they had found a more private place to talk.

"Let her?!" Sansa had turned on him. "Let her?! This is Arya we're talking about. Nobody let's her do anything. She just does!"

Jon had been unwilling to back down. "You should have stopped her! She's going to get herself killed, and for what?!"

That was when Sansa had started throwing numbers at him. The number of people who had come through the gates, the number of those who were fit to fight, the amount of hay, grain, and livestock that those people had brought with them. And Sansa had given him updates on those numbers every day since. It was then that he had realised that it was him that had no idea what Arya was doing. She was saving lives, as many and as quickly a she could. His heart had sank, he was likely never going to see Arya again.

A drop if water landed on the parchment bringing Jon back to the present. He wiped it away, trying not to smudge the ink, but another drop followed. He looked up at the sky but it wasn't raining. It was only then that he realised that tears were running down his face. He quickly wiped them away. Funny how bastards learn to cry silently.

He re-read the last couple of lines:

 _I love you and I miss you. There is so much I wish I had the time to tell you. I can do this._

 _Your dark sister, Arya._

She had known what she was getting into all along. He wondered if Daenerys had understood the reference to Visenya Targaryen's blade. He was sure Tyrion had. He carefully folded the note away and headed the one place he had been finding solace lately. Gendry's forge.

Gendry looked up and greeted him with a brief "Lord Snow." Before going back to work on whatever it was that he was working on. Jon settled himself on the stool in the corner which had seemed to appear out of nowhere after he had visited Gendry a couple of days in a row, he suspected the stool had been put there especially for him but he hadn't asked. Despite the cold Gendry was sweating, he put his full strength into every swing of the hammer, never holding back. Somehow he made the metal sing every time he hit it.

"I hope you've done something about a suitable weapon for yourself with some of that Dragonglass." Jon asked. "Arya wouldn't be too happy with me if I got you all the way to Winterfell only to get you killed."

A gentle smile passed across Gendry's lips. "I think Mi'lady would forgive you of almost anything. She talked about you on the road, a lot. She was really not happy that Polliver took her Needle."

Jon nodded. "I'm glad the Hound helped her to get it back."

Gendry grimaced. "Don't call him that," he said softly. "He hates that name."

Jon frowned. "It's the sigil of his house…"

Gendry shook his head and put his hammer down. "No. It's the sigil of his brother's house. It's not his house. He doesn't have a house. His father proved that the day he covered up that it was his brother that gave him his burns."

Jon looked at Gendry in shock. "I didn't know."

Gendry picked up his hammer again and went back to work. "Most people don't."

They sat in silence for a while, save for the sound of Gendry's hammer as he worked. Jon noticed a slight smile slowly start pulling at the corner of Gendry's mouth.

"What's so funny?" Jon finally asked.

"Nothing." Gendry replied. "Just thinking how similar you and Lady Arya are. She used to sit and watch me work too."

Jon shrugged. "There's something kind of soothing about it. Even Mikken couldn't make the steel sing the way you do."

"Mikken?" Gendry asked. "Did he make Needle?"

Jon nodded. "He was the head blacksmith here for many years."

"What happened to him?"

Jon sighed. "The Bolton's, I think."

Gendry just nodded. He was about to swing his hammer again then stopped as something or someone across the courtyard caught his attention. "I hope it's not Lady Stark that you are hiding from, Lord Snow."

"I'm not hiding," Jon replied. "Just avoiding." He moved slightly back into the corner but it didn't save him.

"Lady Stark." Gendry greeted, giving her a curt nod and Jon a moment of warning.

"Gendry," Sansa greeted him her voice was polite but there was a tightness to her expression that suggested something was very wrong. "I don't suppose -"

"Corner." Gendry replied, nodding in Jon's direction and ratting him out.

Sansa turned on Jon abruptly. "So you've been hiding in here while I've been dealing with the Northern Lords, and our Queen, and everything else?!"

Jon shook his head. "Actually I was hiding up there." He said pointing up at the top of the wall. "Then I came down here to warm up a bit. Besides, you're better at it."

Sansa shook her head and Jon suddenly realised she looked close to tears. He stood up quickly, placing a hand on each of her arms. "Sansa, what's wrong?"

Gendry put his hammer down. "Do you want me to go."

Sansa shook her head quickly. "If Jon can't answer this you may be able to." She thrust a small object wrapped in fabric at Jon. "Bran found something, well his animal's found something."

She was really starting to scare him now. Jon unwrapped the object quickly, it was the hilt of a shattered sword, but it wasn't just any sword, it was needle. He rolled it over in his fingers until he found Mikken's maker's mark.

"Is it…?" Sansa asked.

Jon nodded slowly. He handled the hilt to Gendry, who took it with shaking hands.

"Needle." Gendry whispered.

"What did Bran say?" Jon asked.

A tear slipped down Sansa's face. "He doesn't know." She replied with a sob. "He can't see her. He's been having dreams but he doesn't know when they happened."

Sansa threw her arms around Jon's neck and started sobbing. Jon could feel hot tears running down his own face as well. Arya was dead, she had to be.

Gendry's words cut through their sorrow. "She's stronger than you think. Didn't she have a Valyrian dagger as well? Show me that. Show me a body. She's been thought dead before. She wasn't dead then and she's not dead now."

Jon could hear the denial and pain in Gendry's voice. Before Jon could think about his actions he reached out an arm and pulled Gendry into the hug.

That was how Tyrion found them. Sansa sobbing, Jon sheading silent tears, and Gendry defiantly whispering "She's not dead." over and over again.

~~/~~


	11. Part 11

Part 11:

Edric Dayne, known as Ned, was deep in thought as he rode his army towards Winterfell. How would they be received? They had not sent any ravens or riders to let anybody know that they were coming, they had chosen three longer routes and split their army, avoiding all major and minor keeps. They had kept their colours and their banners hidden. The thought was that they did not know who could be trusted. Now he was starting to question that decision. Every village that they had encountered since making landfall was empty, hastily abandoned, and he was starting to wonder if they would arrive too late. When they had re-grouped with the other two parties the story had been the same.

Ned pondered the decisions, both his and others, that had led him here. At ten years old he had become Lord Beric Dondarrion's squire. He had always respected the man, loved him even, when he had seen Beric be impaled by the Mountain it was like losing a parent. When he saw Thoros bring his master back to life he had believed it a blessing. He had even converted to the faith of the Lord of Light for a time. But a bloodthirsty angry little wolf girl had changed all that.

He remembered the day that they had found Arya Stark, Hot Pie, and Gendry on the road. Arya was brave and true, she tried to protect her friends even though she was the smallest of the three. Something about her had reminded him of the one time that he had seen Ned Stark, maybe it was the eyes? He had been less shocked than most when Sander Clegane had revealed her identity.

Ned thought about the events that had pushed him to leave the brotherhood without banners and return home to Starfall. He had been sitting near the fire beside Beric when he had heard the argument between Arya and Gendry about Gendry's decision to join the brotherhood. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but the acoustics of the cave, and the loudness of Arya's disapproval had made it difficult not to. It had played over in his head every day since Beric had betrayed Gendry and sold him to the Red Woman.

 _"I'm going to stay on and smith for the brotherhood."_

 _"Have you lost your mind? When the Lannister's find this place do you think they'll spare the smiths? They'll cave your head in with your own hammer."_

 _"The Lannister's wanted to kill me long before I joined the brotherhood."_

 _"You don't have to do this."_

 _"I want to. They need good men."_

 _"Rob needs good men too! We're leaving tomorrow. And then -"_

 _"What? Serve him? Look I've served men my entire life. I served master Mott at Kings Landing and he sold me to the Watch. I served Lord Twyin at Harrenhal wondering every day if I would get tortured or killed. I'm done serving."_

 _"You just said you were serving Lord Beric."_

 _"He may be their leader, but they chose him. These men are brothers, they're a family. I never had a family."_

Gendry had believed every word that Lord Beric had said, just as Ned had done. Beric had heard the argument, had heard Arya's reply, and yet he had still sold Gendry. At least the second time in the young man's life that he had been sold. Ned's guilt at doing nothing, at not trying to stop it from happening, had been what had driven him home. He couldn't put the past right, but he could work towards a better future. Eddard Stark's words rang through his head.

 _"I cannot give you back your homes, or restore your dead back to life, but perhaps I can give you justice…"_

Ned didn't quite know what justice was in this case. Killing Beric? Maybe. Dedicating the rest of his life to house Stark? Possibly. What he did know was that whatever the path to justice for Gendry Waters and Arya Stark was he would need to earn the title 'Sword of the Morning' to be able to give it to them. Dawn, the ancestral sword of House Dayne, had remained dormant since the death of Arthur Dayne as none had been deemed good enough to wield the star-metal blade. But with Ned's guilt had also come a certain clarity. The blade had called out to him, it was still sleeping, but he could wake it up.

He had thrown himself into training like a mad man, driven by guilt and self-loathing, and by the all-consuming desire to set things right. Every time that he wanted to stop, to give up, he had heard Arya's voice as she pleaded with Gendry not to join the brotherhood.

 _"I can be your family."_

Gendry was probably dead, maybe Arya was dead as well? But he had promised himself that he would become the Sword of the Morning, and he had promised himself that once he did so he would pledge that sword to any surviving Stark who would take his aid. The day that he was presented with Dawn he was surprised to learn that the sword came with a promise of its own. An oath his father and mother had sworn to Ned Stark the day it had been returned to Starfall. He didn't know what gods to believe in anymore but this was not mere chance. Some greater power was at play.

His fingers brushed the hilt of Dawn as Winterfell came into sight. He could still remember the first time that he had held the blade in his hand. The blade had seemed to come to life in his hand and he had been forced to his knees as a vision overwhelmed him. A young Eddard Stark stood holding a baby in his arms. The blade, Dawn, was laid across the baby. Ned's father and mother both laid their hands upon the blade and swore an oath that if the time ever came when the child needed the aid of the Sword of the Morning the blade would call the right person and bring them to his side.

Ned pushed himself back to the present time. He gave a signal and his mean unfurled their banners and revealed their colours. He looked down at the rows of unsullied and felt a small spark of hope. Maybe they weren't too late? He brought his army to a stop. He rode forward with one banner man and one sword towards the gate of Winterfell. The unsullied let them pass but he was halted at the gate.

"State you name and your purpose." The guard growled.

"Lord Edric Dayne, Sword of the Morning, and I am here to honour the promise made to Lord Eddard Stark the day that Dawn was returned to Starfall."

The guard looked at him sceptically. "You do realise that Eddard Stark is long dead?"

Ned nodded. "The promise was in regards to Jon, I need to speak with him."

"Lord Snow is a little busy." The guard replied seemingly unconvinced.

Ned dismounted his horse and walked up to the guard. "He's not a Snow," he said very quietly. "He's a Sand, and I need to speak with him. That conversation will go much better if I don't have to cut you down first."

The guard blinked at him a couple of times then signalled another guard over. Ned moved back a respectable distance to let them talk. Thirty minutes later he was in the heart of Winterfell, in a room waiting to face Jon.

He finally understood the name of Stark. In any other keep the stone walls would have been covered in travesties or carvings. The fixtures would be ornate, the fireplaces exquisitely carved. In comparison to any other Hold or Keep the place that had been the home of the Kings of Winter for over a thousand years was, for lack of a better word, stark.

Jon did not enter the room alone. The strange beauty beside him could be none other than Daenerys Targaryen. Ned could tell straight away that Jon was uncomfortable, before he could utter a word the young dragon queen started to speak.

"I hear you are the Sword of the Morning." she said looking him up and down. "Quite a title, I'm told. Are you here to help against the Night King?"

Ned flashed her his brightest smile. "With all due respect, Daenerys Targaryen, Dorne does not kneel and we shall have no King." He said, quoting the words that Meria Martell had once defiantly spoken to Rhaenys Targaryen. "I believe I requested an audience with Jon of Winterfell, not the mother of dragons."

Daenerys gave him a cold smile. "Those words sound don't sound so bold when they aren't coming from and eight year old girl. Jon Snow -"

"Sand." Ned corrected, causing both of them to suddenly look at him. "Jon is actually a Sand, he was born in Dorne. He was with Ned Stark when he arrived at Starfall. I had only recently been born so I don't remember it myself, but I am told that my mother could not produce enough milk so the wet nurse that nursed Jon also nursed me. That is what I wish to discuss with him. And that is a private conversation between milk brothers."

Daenerys looked at Jon, who was just staring at Ned in shock and then looked back at Ned. "I see." She replied. She gave Jon a curt nod then left the room.

Jon was still reeling in shock. Ned looked at the poor man with sympathy. If this was his reaction at being told he wasn't a Snow how was he going to handle learning that he wasn't a bastard?

"Am I really a Sand?" Jon finally asked.

Ned shook his head. "I was raised to believe so, but it's actually a bit more complicated than that." He tapped the blade on his hip. "I always knew that the responsibility of this blade came with a few secrets and vows, but I did not know what I was getting into until I had sworn my oaths." He pulled a package out of the bag that he had slung over his shoulder. "This is a letter from you uncle, it was written to you when you were four days old. It will explain everything to you."

"Uncle?" Ned could see the confusion in Jon's eyes as he took the package.

"Yes, Eddard Stark was your uncle, not your father. You may want to sit down before you read it."

Jon followed his advice and gestured to another chair, inviting Ned to sit as well. Ned was sure that Jon had wanted answers for years, but now he seemed to hesitate. "Any other warnings?" He asked wearily.

Ned gave his milk brother a sad smile. "Your first name isn't Jon, it's Aegon."

~~/~~


	12. Part 12

Part 12:

Arya was feeling a lot better. She had visited most of the wounded, tending their injuries with a few tricks learnt from her dreaming with the Children of the Forest. She had pulled from the power of the tree to tend their wounds and speed up their healing. She almost smiled as she remembered the look on young Lord Umber's face as she had pushed some moss treated in Weirwood sap into a nasty looking cut.

"Do I look like a Reed?" He'd asked.

She shook her head. "No, a member of House Reed would have known to do that for themselves." She'd replied. "Give it a day, trust me. I haven't just been sleeping, I've been learning the old ways." She gave him a wink and patted his shoulder, completely oblivious to how much she was channelling her father.

Everybody that was able had been working hard while Arya was in her fever dreams. Rodrik had people sorting through the growing pile of Dragonglass and making it into weapons, using sharp rocks as chisels. Erenella was teaching people to fletch arrows and making bows with the aid of the Mormont men. Others were making touches or scraping and drying the horse skin and cleaning the horse guts to use for bindings. Even the horse's hooves were being worked into the weapons as guards on the hilts. Arya decided that they were starting to look more wild than the wildlings did.

As she realised how much their resources had grown Arya felt a little guilty, every time they gained Dragonglass and horse meat it meant that more Dothraki were dead, but she wasn't wasting a piece of it.

She knew that half of them must have thought that she was crazy, but she'd told them what Nymeria was bringing anyway. An army of wolves and men. They were only a day or two away now, Arya could feel it. When they arrived her people and the weapons needed to be ready.

The dragon was nowhere near, the magic of the Weirtree had shielded them. She gathered up around a hundred of the less experienced fighters in the clearing and started training them. The words and cockiness of Syrio Forel slipping off of her tongue with ease. After everything that they had been through she was trying to interject a bit of fun, so the warm training style of her former water dancing teacher seemed more appropriate than the cruel approach of the faceless men.

"One hand is all that is needed." She explained holding the stick that she was using as a training sword with ease. She flipped the stick and balanced it on her fingers then flipped it back into her hand. She walked up to one of the girls and corrected their stance, a smirk on her lips. "Boy, you are standing all wrong."

"I'm a girl." The girl replied.

"Boy, girl, what does it matter? Turn your body side face." She tapped the stick lightly where she wanted the girl to move. She exaggerated everything and was happy to see a few smiles and even hear a small laugh.

Most of them would die, why not give them a good hour or two? For those that would survive why not one good memory? She walked along the lines of girls and boy, of women and men, correcting their stances but she kept the attitude of the lesson light. "Most of you are skinny, that is good, the target is small. Do not long for armour," She continued as she lifted another man's chin. "It is heavy and it will make you slow. Ice is slow, slow is easy to hit."

Although she was using a stick she had equipped each of them with the Dragonglass weapons that they would be using as they had little time to learn them. Once she had gone through stances she went over grips. "The grip must be delicate, but the blade must be part of your arm."

It was a large number of people to train all at once, smaller groups would have been easier, but there was no time. She worked hard to keep them all engaged, to give them all attention, and to remember as many of their names as possible. For a while she was almost the old Arya again, the happy Arya.

She corrected a boys grip and intentionally called him a girl. "I'm a boy." He corrected pulling a face at her, they were starting to learn the game. "Girl, boy, horse, wolf, stag? You are a sword, that is all." She turned to an older man. "What are you?"

"A sword." The man replied.

Arya smiled. She maintained perfect eye contact with the man. "And where does your arm end?" he gestured to the end of his weapon and her smile widened. "Good."

She turned to a women who was gripping her weapon tightly. The woman was about the same age as Arya's mother would have been. Arya gently placed her hand over the woman's hand and stroked the tension out of her fingers. "Relax, you are not holding a battle axe. This is not the dance of Westeros I am teaching you, leave the hacking and slashing to the enemy. We are water, they are ice, we will flow between them and they will melt."

She took a couple of steps back and held her hand out to show the woman what she was asking of her. "That is the grip. Now it is time to dance the water dance of Bravos." She glided her stick in front of her, turning to focus on another person. "This dance is swift, and sudden."

She allowed herself to get a little more serious. "You must be here, not with your troubles. The sword is not the tool, you are the tool, the sword is a living thing. If you are with your trouble when fighting happens, more trouble for you."

Over the next hour she taught them three basic combinations of attacks and blocks, by the end of the hour she only had to yell the move and they would all do it. She only hoped that it would be enough to give them a chance.

When she broke up the training a few people approached her asking questions so she gave them some more personal training. Afterwards she would occasionally see people practicing a combination a couple of time before moving on to another task or going over what she had shown them in a small group. She also ended up doing a lot of smaller trainings over the course of the day, or was it night? Time means little when the sun doesn't rise.

It was only when she finally sat down to rest against the trunk of the tree that she realised the stick that she had picked up earlier in the day had hardened like rock. It had to be Weirwood! The stick was about twice her shoulder width in length. She was pondering how she would make this her new weapon when she heard a rustle along the edge of the trees.

Most people had gone back into the caverns under the Weirwood but four men were sitting outside. Arya stood slowly, one of the other men started to stand as well but she stilled him with a hand movement. A male deer, a hart, with a powerful set of antlers slowly made its way into the clearing. Arya looked from the antlers to the piece of Weirwood in her hand and for the first time in years she thanked the old gods.

She carefully tucked the piece of Weirwood into her belt and signalled for the men to stay still. Moving with extreme caution she approached the hart over a number of minutes. She was well aware of how much damage those antlers could do. Robert Baratheon had died to teach her that. Eventually she got close enough to touch the animal. It was nervous at first, but slowly it allowed her to wrap her arms around its neck. She brought her head in hard against its neck, out of range of its antlers and for a moment she just took in the power of the beast.

"Thank you for your sacrifice." She whispered. Quick as lightning she drew her blade and slit its throat, her arm wrapping around it again before it could start to thrash. She held onto it as it fought to live, she had hit the artery perfectly and the hot blood washed over her as she rode its death throws to the ground. She held it for a few minutes longer before finally letting go.

The men looked at her in shock for a few minutes then a flurry of activity sprang into action as tanners and butchers were called up. "I want the antlers." She said quietly as one of the butchers approached. "And enough gut string for fletching."

The butcher just nodded, making no comment of the fact that she was bathed in blood, half an hour later she had the pieces she had requested. She prepared the gut at the edge of the clearing then sat down at the base of the Weirwood, still drenched in blood, to craft her new double ended weapon.

~~/~~


	13. Part 13

Part 13:

Jon read the letter slowly. It was more a book than a letter, more words then he had seen his father write in all his life. _Uncle._ He corrected himself in his mind. _Not Father, uncle._ Eddric Dayne sat silently beside him. The letter had been carefully wrapped in blue silk, the colour of winter roses, and tied with a purple ribbon. When he had opened it up there had been a lock of long black hair, which he would soon learn was his mother's, and over a hundred pages filled with Eddard Starks writing.

 _Jon. I've decided to call you Jon. I've named you after Jon Arryn of the Vale. He was like a father to me, sometimes more so than my own, and hopefully his name will keep you safe. Your mother named you something else, but we will get to that._

 _You are my blood, never forget that. I cannot call you son, but you are of the line of Bran the Builder, always remember that. Know that I will do everything I can to protect you, even lie. I can only hope that by the time you read this you are old enough to understand that sometimes we lie to the ones we love to keep them safe._

 _I doubt that you will forgive me, but if you are reading this I am likely not alive to worry about that. I will try to be the best father to you that I can, but you will be named a Snow, not a Stark. I can only hope that by the time you finish reading this you understand why. You are the blood of kings, in more ways than you know. But the king that is would kill you if he knew the truth of you, I know this for fact as I have seen the fate of your half-sister and half-brother. I had no part in that, nor do I condone it._

 _I can only imagine how many times you will ask me about your mother, how many times I will break your heart by not being able to reply. Please know that each time my own heart will break as well._

 _I pray to the old gods that you have not inherited the wolf blood as your mother did. The lock of hair belongs to your mother, my sister, Lyanna Stark. We will get to who you father is in a bit. Forgive me, Jon, this is not easy for me to write. I want you to understand the type of woman your mother was. Lyanna the She-wolf, the wild Stark who Robert Baratheon thought that he could tame… you do not tame a direwolf…._

After about an hour of reading Jon looked up at the man beside him. "How much of this do you know?"

"The letter for the Sword of the Morning was but a single page." Ned Dayne replied slowly. He paused, seeming to weigh his answer. His hand brushed over Dawn, a seemingly unconscious act. "However Dawn is a living weapon, a sword with a soul, and it has shown me a few things. Dawn has witnessed a lot of what led to you."

Jon had too many other questions to deal with the comment about living weapons so he did not ask Ned to try and explain. Instead he carefully piled up the pages of the letter and began to wrap them in the silk again. It was only after he had tied the package up that he realised he had left the lock of hair out. He held it up to the fire and looked at it thoughtfully for a minute. This was the only thing he had of hers, the only thing he had ever had of hers, he was suddenly reluctant to pack it away. He was just considering how he could keep it on him without damaging it when Ned cleared his throat.

Jon looked over to see that Ned's hand was outstretched, a small pouch in his hand. The pouch was made of grey felt with the sigil of House Stark embroidered on it in black.

"Thank you." Jon gently took the pouch and carefully placed the lock of hair in it before tucking it into a pocket. "How did…?"

"We Dayne's like to think we think things through." Ned replied. "I know we need to talk about the war to come and the Night King, but before we do I have a more personal question."

Jon nodded. "Ask."

Ned sighed. "This is a tricky subject, I noticed a certain blacksmith while I was crossing the court yard, one that I believed long dead, it begs me to ask… Is Lady Arya alive?"

Gods! Did Arya know everybody in the known world? Jon swallowed hard at the question "We do not know." He paused. "As for that blacksmith… anything that you think you know, keep it to yourself. He is under my protection."

Ned raised an eyebrow at the comment but kept the subject on Arya. "When is the last time you saw her?"

Jon thought of the day that he had last seen Arya, it was the day that he had left for the Nights Watch. He had just gone to try and say goodbye to Bran, not that Caitlyn Stark had let him. Rob had asked how it and gone, forcing him to do a bastard's duty and lie. Uncle Benjin was waiting impatiently for him at the gate.

He had already said his goodbyes to Arya, or so he thought. He had tried to focus on how she looked up at him in wonder when he gave her Needle instead of the growing heaviness of his own heart. Suddenly he heard her call his name. He turned and she ran into his arms, jumping up and forcing him to catch her in a hug.

"When she was eleven." He answered quietly.

"Don't give up hope, she is more capable than you know. It's a few years since I meet her, but she was becoming quite the young Nymeria even then. I've met many a man with less skill than her as a fighter, she lives to train, no one can satisfy her desire to learn. She'd put many a Sand-Snake to shame." Ned shook his head. "She certainly put me to shame."

"How?" Jon asked.

Ned hung his head and explained about his time in the Brotherhood without banners. He told Jon about how Gendry had wanted to join, and why, about the fight that he and Arya had about it. He explained about what had happened the next day and how not one of them had tried to stop Melisandre from taking Gendry. He told Jon about how Arya had confronted the Red Priestess, and how not one of them had backed her up.

Jon had heard parts of the story before, but not in this detail. For the first time he truly appreciated the difference between being a claimed bastard and an unclaimed bastard. And for the first time he started to truly suspect just how important Gendry might actually be to Arya.

~~/~~


	14. Part 14

Part 14:

Gendry felt eerily calm as he approached Lady Sansa Stark. She was standing near the opening of the crypts, overseeing their preparation as a safe haven for those that would not be fighting. They had already moved as much of Winterfell's resources in there as they dared. The multilayer underground warren of halls and passages was larger than Winterfell was above ground. One entrance made it easier to defend, and the layers of stone and dirt should offer some protection against the Knight King's dragon. It seemed the old Kings of Winter were offering one last act of service to their people.

Gendry had been down there once, the day after the hilt of Needle had been recovered. Sansa had taken him down with a couple of other Smiths, some Masons, and some Builders, to discuss the logistics of what she wanted to do. It made sense, it was a little creepy, but it made sense. She had seemed so calm and in control, almost as if the day before had never happened. He might have believed it if not for the item that Sansa seemed to constantly pass from one hand to another. The broken remains of Arya's sword.

The sword hilt seldom left Sansa's hands nowadays, at first it had been a more conscious action, but now it was just what she did. She would look somebody in the eye and listen intently, but her hands would twist and turn the hilt, only stopping when Jon literally grabbed her hands and made her stop. Nobody but Jon dared do that. Every now and again she would accidently cut herself, she would just look down at the cut and watch it bleed for a few moments when it happened, then she would go back to fidgeting with the hilt again. Gendry had offered to smooth the sharp edges for her, but she's just given him a sad smile and refused his offer.

He took a moment to study her now as he approached. She was standing beside one of the direwolf statues that guarded the door, even with their heads smashed off the statures were magnificent. The hilt passed from one hand to the other as she oversaw the work. He stopped a few steps back, close enough to call out to her but far enough to make it easy for her to dismiss him if she wished to. He carefully lowered the sack he had been carrying to the ground.

"Lady Stark."

Her hands stilled for a moment and she paused to look at who was calling her. Her features softened for a second before going back to being completely unreadable.

"Gendry." She acknowledged and took a couple of steps in his direction.

"Lady Stark, I've made something I need to show you." He pulled one of the small blades out of the sack and offered it to her.

Sansa tucked Needle away and took another step closer, taking the offered blade with a questioning look. "A… it's too short for a sword but too long for a dagger?"

Gendry shrugged. "Hopefully a solution to a problem, Lady Stark. We're run very low on Dragonglass, we already knew we didn't have enough to arm the fighters. I've been collecting up all the scraps, even the finest dust and mixing it with steel. The Dragonglass seems to come up when you sharpen the blade. It's not much, just a last ditch weapon, but it's something."

Sansa unsheathed the knife and held it up to have a good look at it. The blade was about the length from her elbow to the end of her hand. The black flecks of Dragonglass caught the touch light and made the blade seem to glimmer like starlight. "Do you think it will work?" she asked.

"Against the dead? I have no idea, but we have to try. If we fail out there I want to know that I've given you every chance I can. They're not my best work, once I got the metal right I made as many as I could as quickly as I could. I've had others bind the pummels and make the sheaths."

"It's good. A humble weapon, honest." Sansa replied with approval. "Now is not the time for making elaborate things. Gold inlay isn't going to increase our chances of survival. How many have you made?"

Gendry shrugged and handed over the sack which had somewhere between 30-40 blades. "I've kept a few aside to give to certain people, but this is what I have left. There is no more Dragonglass."

Sansa carefully re-sheathed the blade and looked in the sack then looked at Gendry in shock. "How…" She seemed stunned by the number of weapons. "Gendry have you even slept?"

Gendry shrugged. "A few hours here and there, no more than I had to." He sighed. "Besides, it's better to keep busy. When I'm focusing on the forge it keeps my mind from other things."

Sansa nodded in understanding. "I can appreciate that. But this is really something, Gendry, you've done all this _and_ made armour and a sword for Daenerys?" She shook her head at the size of the effort he had put in. She paused for a moment, as if to recollect herself, then suddenly her tone was all business again. "Jon needs one, and -"

"I have one for him." Gendry interrupted.

Sansa nodded. "Who else?"

"Ser Davos, Sander Clegane , Podrick, Lady Brianne, and Lady Mormont." Gendry replied.

Sansa nodded in approval. "Good choices, and one for yourself?"

"Yes, Lady Stark."

Sansa looked at the blade still in her hand. "And this one for me."

Gendry shook his head. "Actually," he reached behind his back and pulled out the blade that had been tucked into his belt, offering it to her. "I took a bit more care making the first one. It's the only one where I did the binding and sheath myself. Seems fit that you should have it."

Sansa put the other blade back into the sack and graciously took the offered weapon. "I never wanted to play with swords." She said thoughtfully. "I never could understand why Arya wanted to, I thought she was stupid, now I wish I'd at least let my brothers teach me a couple of things."

Gendry was taken aback at the candidness of the comment. There was such regret in Sansa's words. He had known since he first arrived at Winterfell that the two sisters were not cut from the same cloth but he had always assumed that Arya was close with all of her family. Sansa's comment suggested otherwise. He didn't know how to respond to the comment about Arya, so he responded to the comment about not knowing how to use a sword instead.

"Put it on." He said gently. Sansa nodded and put the belt around her waist. She seemed to struggle for a few seconds and then she fastened it. The blade was on her right hip. He frowned. "You're right handed, yes?"

Sansa nodded. "Yes."

"Then you want it on you left hip, it's easier to cross-draw."

Sansa nodded and moved the blade. "Like this?" She asked. Gendry nodded and she smiled. "So, that's lesson one, what is lesson two?"

Gendry smiled back. "Stick'em with the pointy end."

Sansa chuckled. She shook her head in disbelief. "Stick'em with the pointy end." She muttered. "You really are a worry, Gendry Waters." She frowned at the sack. "We need to get that into the Crypts."

Gendry nodded and obediently picked up the sack. "Lead on, Lady Stark."

Sansa rolled her eyes and gave him a sideways look. "That sounds like something one of my brothers would have said. Exactly whose bastard are you, Waters?"

"Not your father's, if that's what you're asking." Gendry replied carefully. "You father claimed his." He paused, considering how to answer the question. He said the next comment very, very quietly. "Not all of Lord Arryn's wards were so considerate."

Sansa stopped walking and spun around to look at him. "Jon Arryn only had two wards." She whispered.

Gendry nodded. "That is true, Lady Stark." He tried to keep his face expressionless as Sansa studied him.

She looked at him long and hard, much like her father had once done. "Gods," she muttered. "Does Jon know?"

"Yes," Gendry replied stiffly. "And Ser Davos. I suspect Sander may have worked it out as well."

Sansa took a deep breath. "You're what his sons should have looked like. Gods, I was such a foolish little girl. To even believe for even a moment that Joffrey…" Sansa shook her head. "Arya was always cleverer than me. No wonder it was her that found you." She turned back towards the Crypts again and started walking. "Come on, Waters, let's get these blades away."

~~/~~


	15. Part 15

Part 15:

They had been traveling south for over a week, following the trail of destruction that the Night King's Army had left behind. The long weapon that Arya had made was slung over her shoulder with a rope made from horse hair, her dagger at her hip. Nymeria moved swiftly under her, faster than any horse ever could. Eddison Tollett, 999th Lord Commander of the Watch, rode on Ghost beside her. Apparently the man and the direwolf were friends.

Arya remembered the joy she had felt when Nymeria had entered the Weirwood clearing with over a thousand direwolves, and Wildlings or Nights Watch on almost every one of them. She remembered how quickly that joy had faded at the sight of Beric Dondarrion. She's had her blade at his throat in seconds. The man had held his hands up and opened his mouth to speak but she hadn't believed that there were any words that could save his life. She had been wrong.

"G-Gendry's alive." He'd stuttered, clearly understanding exactly why she wanted him dead.

"Your god of light tell you that?" She'd replied sharply, her hand unwavering.

"No, I saw him a couple of months ago, at the Wall, with your brother."

She's taken a step back and let him explain, he'd told her about finding Sander Clegane, about going to the Wall, and beyond it. He'd told her about Jon, and Gendry, how Gendry had saved them all. He'd told her that he had told Sander about the conversation between her and Gendry that night north of the crossroads, and how Sander had promised to find a way to let Jon know that she considered Gendry family. She was glad to know that both Sander and Gendry were alive, and were with Jon, but she wasn't going to tell him that.

"I guess I don't kill you today." Had been her only reply as she had put her blade way.

"I guess she don't like you very much." A crazy-eyed wildling had snickered before offering his large hand in greeting and introducing himself as Tormund Giantsbane.

Arya had taken an immediate liking to the wildling and they had been halfway through discussing what weapons and resources they had before Eddison had even been able to introduce himself. He seemed well out of his league for a Commander of the Watch and was more than happy to let Arya take control of the situation. Now, a week later, they were getting close to Winterfell.

Every now and then they would find a group of Dothraki. Arya would always make the pack stop and see that the wounded were tended to. Many of the greenseers were healers, using the same magics that the children had taught her in her fever dreams. The wildlings seemed to start to trust her more once they saw that she knew the old ways. The wildlings had always known Stark's to be the enemy so she knew she must be doing something right.

She knew that she must seem like some kind of monster to the Dothraki, bearing down of them with an army of direwolves, her people bearing strange weapons with horse hooves as hilts, her own weapon stranger still. She admitted she wasn't working hard at making friends. She's simply tend to the injured, human and horse alike, then leave. Now and then there would be one that asked her name. One of her people, or the wildlings, would answer that she was the blood wolf and the only reason that the pack weren't eating their horses. They'd advise them not to break her concentration while she was in the wolf-mind.

She hadn't even realised that she was in the wolf-mind until the first time somebody had said it. She could speak, if she concentrated, but it took a lot of effort. She wondered how many times she had thought that she was giving instructions but had only uttered howls?

Every time they reached a battle ground or a village they would stop and look for resources, food, weapons, anything useful. Everybody had Dragonglass now and Arya was actually starting to feel hopeful.

They stopped to make camp and the direwolves took off to hunt and scout the area. Arya pulled back from the wolf-mind and tried to find that part of her that was human again. She watched some people shivering as they tried to make a fire and realised that she wasn't cold. She sort out Rodrik. She found him having a drink with Tormund.

"Mi'lady." He greeted as she approached.

"Are you cold?" She asked, frowning.

"I was, Mi'lady, until Tormund decided to share his drink with me, it is cold."

Arya's frown deepened. "I'm not cold."

Rodrik was in front of her in two strides, his hand on her forehead. "Gods," he muttered "You're on fire."

Arya nodded. "The wolf-mind is taking its toll."

"Maybe we should rest for a few days." Rodrik asked with concern.

Arya shook her head. "No, we're almost there. I think we'll reach the battle tomorrow." She swallowed hard at the thought of what was to come. "Once it's over though…"

"We'll be losing you to fever dreams for a few days." Rodrik finished.

Arya nodded. "You'll see that the others needs are looked to?"

Rodrik nodded. "If I live that long, aye."

Arya nodded. "And you'll find Gendry?"

Rodrik gave her a gentle smile. "I'll find your blacksmith, mi'lady. Now go get some rest. I'll make sure some food is brought to you."

Arya nodded thankfully, as she walked away she overheard Tormund comment that she had just uttered more words than she had in the last three days. They were worried about her and she didn't blame them. She was worried about her too.

Her prediction was correct, the next day they reached the battle, not far from Winterfell.

~~/~~

The smell reminded Gendry of Harrenhal. He swung his Dragonglass hammer in a wide arc and three whites hit the ground. Sander Clegane had his back but they were surrounded. Every time one of them created some clear space more of the dead filled it. They were losing. The dragons were fighting their own battle above. The unsullied were scattered, being the largest group had made them an easy target for the Night King's dragon.

When they had realised the Night King's tactics the order had been given for everyone to get in amongst the whites. Yes, it was enemies on all sides, but it was easier to dodge undead than dragon fire. However it was not the tactics that the unsullied were used to.

Gendry saw Jon in the distance with a few men and signalled to Sander that they needed to fight to get that way. Sander nodded then took out another couple of whites. Gendry swung his hammer again as he tried to clear a path but the work was slow.

The whites seemed to suddenly pull back and Gendry looked up to see an otherworldly sight. A thousand direwolves with riders were approaching from the north. It was a magnificent sight, and one that gave him hope. The wolves and their riders entered the fray and quickly took out a couple of the white walkers, the Night King's generals, causing hundreds of the whites to drop. The largest direwolf was ridden by a black haired woman with a strange weapon in her hands, a long-stick with antlers at each end. She seemed to maintain perfect balance on the wolf even though she was only holding on with her legs.

Gendry wondered if this was some wildling queen, but he could only get glances, he had to focus on the enemy in front of him. The wolf leapt high into the air, carrying the warrioress over a dozen whites as they advanced on another of the white walkers. The woman's face turned in Gendry's direction and he suddenly recognised her. Arya! He took out another couple of whites and pushed closer to Jon but his mind was reeling. The wild woman was Arya! She was alive! She… shit – Gendry's hammer broke as an ice weapon smashed against the shaft and he found himself face to face with a white walker with no weapon in his hand.

He ducked the second shot and his hand scrambled for the short blade at his hip. He fumbled with the weapon and it fell. Somehow in his distraction he had been separated from Sander and he was alone. He dove to the ground, re-gaining the blade and shoved it blindly up. Somehow he connected and the walker shattered around him. Causing the surrounding whites to fall as well.

"That was stupid." Sander muttered as he offered him a hand and pulled him up.

"Yeah." Gendry agreed as he got to his feet.

The relief was only temporary, there were many more whites to swarm in and fill the void. Jon looked their way in acknowledgement but did not wait for them. He had another target in sight. Gendry could only guess that he had just taken out the white walker Jon had been trying to get to.

"Stick with me, Gendry." Sander growled. "I'm not dying here today, and neither the fuck are you."

Gendry nodded but his confidence had fallen, he only had a short blade now, and even with Sander's training he was only marginally better than Podrick. The next wave of whites came in and Gendry soon realised he wasn't holding his own, they were closing in. He got separated from Sander again and he knew it was the end for sure. The blade shattered and Gendry was about to give up all hope when he suddenly found himself surrounded by direwolves.

He fell to his knees and started searching the ground for another weapon, the first two hilts he found were connected to broken blades, he was just reaching for another when a deer antler came into his line of sight. He looked up to see Arya standing in front of him. She reached out a hand and helped him up, like some goddess from the old stories about the time when the world was young. She had gotten taller but she was still short, her figure had filled out, she was truly a young woman now. He glanced around, the wolves were three deep, no one was getting near them right now.

"Mi'lady." The word was thick on his tongue.

She pushed the long weapon into his hands. She opened her mouth and a howl escaped, hundreds of wolves howled back in response. She frowned and seemed to concentrate for a moment. She placed his hands on the weapon a shoulder width apart.

"Hold it like this." She said slowly. It was almost as if it was difficult for her to speak. "Roll your shoulders and twist with it, it's just like rowing."

In a different place and time he might have laughed. But they were in the middle of a battle and she had just given him her weapon, there was no time for laughing. "Mi'lady, no." He protested.

Arya took a step back. "Yes." She replied. Then she reached out to a direwolf and grabbed hold of it, the wolf was already leaping away as she pulled herself onto its back and she was gone. The direwolves around him thinned, until there were only a couple guarding his back and he had to fight again.

The shaft of the weapon felt hard as stone but it was as light as wood. It felt warm in his hands. Confused, he swung the weapon at a white and watched the undead fall. He swung at another, then another, the weapon seeming to come alive in his hands. His confidence grew and he suddenly felt less tired. The weapon felt right in his hands, as if it had been made just for him. As he took out white after white him mind tried to name the weapon. A male deer was called a Hart in the north and this was from Arya, Hartstick? Heartstring? No, those names didn't feel right. A male deer was a Stag to him, the symbol of the house of Baratheon. He was holding a Baratheon stick. That name felt right.

The weapon seemed to get warmer in his hands, almost as if it were waking up. Something clicked inside him and it was like he and the weapon had become one. It wasn't like rowing, it was an extension of his arm. He alternated between using the weapon one handed and two handed. No matter what he did, how he moved, it felt _right._

By the time he got near Jon he was cutting down the enemy like stalks of barley. Two direwolves stayed with him, guarding his back.

~~/~~


	16. Part 16

Part 16:

Jon could feel the dragons in the air fighting, not just Drogon and Rhaegal, he could feel the corrupted Viserion as well. It made him feel sick and he could only imagine what it was doing to Daenerys. He had been able to feel the dragons since he had arrived at Dragonstone, although he had denied it. He'd been having dragon dreams as well. He'd tried to deny them too but they were too much like his wolf dreams, he knew that they were real.

It was not by chance that he had been up on the cliff that day when Drogon had landed with Daenerys on his back. Jon hadn't understood it then, but he understood it all too clearly now. It had only been a couple of days since he had learnt of his parentage, he still hadn't talked to Sansa about it, and he didn't know what he was going to do.

When the warning cry had rung out he had grabbed the letter, whilst others were grabbing armour and weapons, and searched for Sansa. Amid the chaos of people readying for battle he had shoved the bundle into her hands and asked her to keep it safe. She had looked up at him in confusion and he simply said it was about his mother. She'd nodded and promised to protect it. It hadn't been until he had started to walk away that he had realised that her hands had been empty when he found her. With surprise he realised that he hadn't seen the remains of Needle in her hands since Gendry had given her the knife-sword a couple of days ago. Maybe wearing a blade somehow made her feel closer to Arya?

Arya, gods he missed her! He'd been having nightmares about Arya for a couple of weeks. Not just nightmares, wolf-dream nightmares. They were always from Ghost's perspective. His mind was filled with images of Arya lying fevered somewhere underground, tossing and turning, sometimes screaming in her sleep. Sometimes she would howl. Sometimes she would speak in a language that sounded more like the whisper of leaves in the wind than words. Sometimes she would speak in Valyrian. Valar Morghulis, Valar Dohaeris, Eban senagho p'aeske!

Ghost was afraid for her and so was Jon. Lately the dreams had changed, she wasn't below ground anymore. Sometimes she was asleep, sometimes she was awake, but there was always this red haze around her and the smell of blood.

Jon had tried to push those thoughts from his mind as he had run into battle. But now, with the dragons above, with blood and death all around him and a sureness that he would not survive, he found himself longing to see her one more time. They had been fighting for what seemed like forever, they were losing. Jon watched another man fall and his heart sank. No matter what he tried he could not get to the white walker that he was after. He looked up and saw Gendry and Sander heading towards the same target.

He felt the direwolves before he saw them. They came down on the enemy in a wave, over a thousand of them. He felt them all, but he felt one more strongly than the rest. Ghost. The enemy seemed to pause, the pack had attacked their flank and they had not expected it. Jon took the moment to look towards his friends and saw Gendry's hammer break. Jon's heart wanted to go and help him but his head knew he was too far away.

Jon focused on the enemy in front of him, Longclaw hummed in his hands and he often took out two or three whites with one swing. He went to strike again and the whites in front of him just fell. He looked back to see the white walker Gendry had been fighting gone and Sander helping Gendry up. Jon gave them a nod then moved towards his next target. It was only after he had taken down another white that he recognised Arya and Nymeria. A minute later Ghost and Eddison were by his side.

Jon looked up some time later to see that Arya no longer had her long weapon. Jon managed to take out a white walker and it allowed him a couple of moments to watch Arya in awe. She was working with a team of six or seven direwolves, nothing but a dagger in her hand. She would roll, jump and flip from the ground to a direwolf and back again, none of the whites could touch her. Her movements flowed like running water. She'd jump, attack, roll, grab onto a direwolf and be gone.

It was like the stories of the Warg Kings who had ruled the North before the Starks. Jon had seen wargs before, but not like this. Nobody had been known to be able to waking-warg, to warg and remain conscious, in thousands of years. Maybe the Kings of Winter had gained some latent abilities when they had taken the daughters of the last Warg King as prizes, but it had never manifested into anything substantial until Arya.

The next wave of whites hit and Jon's mind had to go back to fighting. He caught a glance of Gendry and realised with surprise that the long weapon was in his hands now, and he was using it well! Gendry took out another white walker about the same time as Jon took down one and a moment's reprieve was gained. Jon was just catching his breath when he felt Viserion strike Drogon a deadly blow and heard Daenerys scream. Drogon came smashing to the ground, taking out friend and foe in his wake. Jon couldn't tell if Daenerys managed to get clear or not.

Viserion came down, the undead dragon landed on his dying brother intent on finishing the job. People ran in every direction to escape. But the direwolves did the opposite. They swarmed the massive beast, attacking it with their claws and teeth. Jon watched with cold horror as Arya rode a direwolf up the undead dragon's thrashing back. When the wolf could go no further she dismounted and started trying to climb up the dragon's neck. The dragon tried to throw her off but she clung to it. Hundreds of direwolves were attacking it now, Jon could feel them dying. Somehow Arya got onto Viserion's head. She drew her dagger and plunged it into the large blue eye with both hands. Nothing seemed to happen for a moment, then Viserion seemed to shudder and implode into shattering ice. Arya had no way to go but down.

~~/~~


	17. Part 17

Part 17:

 _Pain._

 _Darkness._

 _Ice._

 _Fire._

 _Suffering._

 _Rage… always rage. Rage is a good enough thing to keep you warm._

 _The first faceless man was conceived in the mines of Valyria, but he was not a slave… he was a blacksmith… kissed by fire, anointed by dragon's blood…_

 _He watched her as she lay weeping on the stone floor of the small room they shared. She could not stand the pain, the heat, the darkness. She was his love, his light, his dark heart. She prayed to the black goat for death but the black goat would not come. And every time she prayed for death the masters punished her. It was forbidden to even think it and the masters knew their thoughts…_

 _He taught her the secrets of the dragon's kiss, the method that blacksmiths used to seal their minds. The master's allowed it, but only because he taught her how to smith._

 _She knelt before the small alter and offered her blood and her tears to the fire. She stood up slowly, her black hair gleaming and turned to look at him. "They've chosen you, Jaq, they say you are the one that will forge the weapon to drive away the darkness."_

 _"Why me? I'm no one"_

 _She reached up and touched the streak of white that ran through his red hair. "You are my blacksmith. Let them teach you their magics, my Jaq, let them teach you, drive back the darkness, then turn everything you've learnt on them."_

 _He let his lips brush hers and dreamt of taking her someplace cold. He pretended not to notice that her sister, Kinvara, watched._

 _"I will set you free." He whispered._

 _He listened, he imitated, he learnt. They were angry when the first blade broke, the second time they gave him a lion to temper the blade, he made sure that one broke too. He had to find a way to set his Nyssa free._

Suddenly Arya found herself lying on the mat of the training room in the house of Black and White. Jaqen H'ghar standing over her with a long stick in his hands. He tapped her with the stick.

"What is a girl doing?" He asked. "Now is not the time for dreaming. A girl needs to wake up."

"A girl is awake." Arya replied.

He shook his head and tapped her with the stick again. "No, a girl is still asleep."

Arya gasped, her lungs burnt and she fell into a coughing fit. "A girl is awake." She whispered. She felt furs surrounding her and realised that she was back home at Winterfell. The furs felt very heavy but they were only covering her up to her waist. She rolled over and tied to pull the furs up but her hand touched something sticky and wet and she suddenly realised that they weren't furs, they were direwolves. She was half buried in dead and dying direwolves, she could feel them dying in her mind. She threw her head back to scream and a long, harrowing, howl came out. The pack replied.

Slowly the world came into focus and she remembered where she was. Franticly she started to search for her blade. She rolled and twisted until she was able to dislodge herself from the dead wolves. Blood ran into her eyes and she tried to push it away, but she only made it worse, she realised that she was drenched in blood. She looked at her arms and saw that they were laced with cuts. She touched her face and found it was the same.

No time to worry about that now. Maybe she would end up looking as terrible to look at as Sander Clegane? Maybe she would die today and it wouldn't matter? At least she wasn't blind again. She continued to search for the Valyrian dagger a little longer before accepting that it was lost, she would have to fine another weapon.

 _"A girl does not need a weapon, a girl is a weapon."_ Jaqen H'ghar's voice whispered on the wind. " _A girl needs a tool. What are you lying on?"_

"Dragon." She whispered. "Dragons are fire, the Night King is ice, I need something from the dragon." The wind did not answer.

She started crawling and clawing her way up through the direwolf bodies. Finally she found what she had been looking for, the exposed back of the black dragon. She saw a couple of spikes that had been partly broken away. She wedged her shoulders against the body of a dead direwolf and started to try to kick them free. She dislodged five of them. As she reached over to pick the first one up she wondered if dragon blood burns.

The answer was yes, but it doesn't matter when you are already on fire. The dragon blood hit her skin, mixing with the direwolf blood and her own, and as small flame jumped to life. She looked at it in awe and wondered why it didn't hurt. She intentionally dripped more dragon blood on her hand and the flame grew. Where the flames licked her skin the cuts healed over and the skin became fresh and clean.

She suddenly understood, her body had been trying to ignite for weeks but she needed the dying dragon's blood. She used the spikes to rip the dragon's flesh open until its blood began to gush. She plunged her arms into it until they were buried to the elbow and managed to rip the skin way from the meat below. The sounds of the battle around her meant nothing as she crawled into the hole and knelt in it, covering as much of herself in the dragon blood as possible. She scooped up blood in both hands and poured it over her head. The flame grew from yellow to red and then to violet. The cuts on her skin disappeared. Her cloths, however, could not survive the flame. The sounds of the fighting grew and she knew she had to return to the battle, but getting off of the dragon would not be so easy.

Arya reached out and touched one of the dead direwolves that were in her way and it incinerated. She touched another dead direwolf and watched it go up in flames. She continued to make her way through the dead bodies of the pack. With each action she gained more understanding and control.

She reached the ground and the snow melted around her feet like water. The wolves surrounding the dragon moved back to give her space and suddenly she could see Daenerys standing wild-eyed in front of her, clutching a sword in her hands. All Arya could think was that Daenerys stance was wrong and she was gripping the blade too tight.

For a moment she considered plucking the blade from the taller woman's hands. She took a step towards Daenerys and might have done it. Then suddenly she realised that the older women was pregnant and that her fear was not for herself but for her child. Arya paused and concentrated for a moment. The child was Jon's! Jon was going to be a father! Arya was going to be an aunt! She concentrated a moment longer and realised the child was a girl. The pack understood, Jon's child needed to be protected. She forced herself to find language.

"The wolves will not let any harm come to you." She reassured Daenerys. "After all, your daughter is pack."

She didn't wait for a reply, instead turning in search of the Night King. That child was just another reason that this had to end today. Hundreds of pairs of eyes helped her find her target. The direwolves parted before her like a wave, closing in behind her again to keep Daenerys safe. She was no longer water dancing, her walk was slow and deliberate as she sort out her target.

Finally she saw him, there were hundreds between them but he turned slowly and looked at her. He placed his right hand on the ground in a deliberate action and looked up at her as he sent a wave of ice magic towards her. She smile and mimicked his actions with her left hand, sending a wave of fire magic in return. The fire magic did not touch the living but the whites burst into flame. The two magics collided violently in the middle sending soldiers to the ground. He looked at her with an expression that could have been shock, or fear, then suddenly he was running at her, and she was running at him.

 _What is your name?_

 _Arya Stark._

 _Lie! What is your name?_

 _Arya Stark of Winterfell._

 _Lie! What is your name?_

 _Blood Wolf._

 _What is your name?_

 _Blood Wolf!_

 _Are you a girl or a direwolf?_

 _I am both._

 _Are you sure?_

As she drew closer to the Night King she let out a howl and jumped into the air. She seemed to jump out of her human body, she felt her form changing in mid-air to that of a direwolf, the violet flame still surrounded her as she caught the Night King in her massive jaws and tore him to shreds with her teeth. As the enemy fell she let out a number of howls in victory and the pack howled with her. The blood wolf panted happily in victory and looked around. Suddenly she noticed Jon looking at her in shock. _Pack._ She loped towards him, Ghost came forward and they rubbed cheeks before she stopped in front of Jon and sat down in front of him panting happily.

"Arya?" His expression was a mixture of shock and awe.

She instinctively knew that he was hesitant to touch her because of the flame. She wanted him to know that she wouldn't let the flame hurt him so she did the only thing her wolf mind could think of. She licked his face.

"Ary, that's not funny." He muttered but his expression said otherwise.

She licked his face again and placed her front paws on his shoulders, gently pushing him towards the ground. She placed a paw on his chest and licked his face again. He reached his arms around her neck and held her tight.

"You better change back soon." He muttered against her fur. "Sansa won't be too impressed if she has to tell the world her sister actually _is_ a direwolf."

The blood wolf felt Nymeria approaching and turned. She saw Nymeria and a number of other wolves urging Daenerys in their direction. The blood wolf moved so that Jon could get up but he just sat up and lent against her, a stupid grin on his face.

"This is your sister?" Daenerys asked, her expression unreadable.

Jon nodded. "This is Arya." He agreed. "Although she's usually smaller, and less furry."

"And not on fire?"

Jon nodded again. "Not usually, no." His expression became more serious and he quickly moved to his feet. "Are you hurt?"

Nymeria came up to the blood wolf, the two direwolves circled each other for a minute as Jon fussed over Daenerys and then the blood wolf licked Nymeria's face. Nymeria licked her back then walked away. The blood wolf looked around and spotted another face she knew, Sander Clegane. _Friend._ She stalked up to him playfully and then head-butted him to the ground.

"What," he grumbled. "Now you're bigger than me you want to be a bully? You just wait until you go back to being human again, then we'll see if you're as good as Brienne says you are."

The blood wolf licked his face.

"Or you can just stay a direwolf." Sander muttered. "Not like I can tell you what to do."

The sight of a deer antler caught the blood wolf's attention and she turned towards Gendry. He had the weapon resting across his shoulders. In her current form she could see that the soul of the Hart was in the weapon and that a magical bond had formed between the weapon and the man. Just as the concept of 'Pack' had crossed her mind for Jon and the concept of 'Friend' had crossed her mind for Sander another concept crossed her mind for Gendry, but for some reason she struggled to process the thought.

She loped up to him slowly and circled him once before stopping in front of him. He reached out a tentative hand and stroked the side of her face. She nuzzled his hand and he took a step closer.

"Mi'lady." The word was little more than a whisper.

She lent her forehead against his and focused on his eyes. She could tell he needed something from her but she didn't understand. There were so many expressions running across his face that it was difficult to decipher them all.

"Mi'lady." He whispered again as his hand continued to caress her jaw.

Suddenly the blood wolf wanted to be Arya again. She focused on his eyes and felt her body slowly change until she was human again. His eyes never left hers, even when she was standing naked in front of him. Suddenly she felt a heavy cloak land across her shoulders, breaking the moment. She looked up at where the cloak had come from and saw Jon.

"That's more than I ever need to see of you." Jon muttered. "You want to turn into a direwolf, fine, but we're going to set some rules about how you turn back."

Arya just nodded. She moved to turn back to Gendry and suddenly her legs gave way. Strong arms caught her quickly and carefully lowered her to the ground.

"Easy, mi'lady." Gendry muttered. "It's been a long day."

Arya just lent against him and nodded.

Gendry looked at her and frowned. "Can you walk?"

Arya shook her head. Gendry slung his new weapon over his shoulder and mock sighed. "I guess I'll have to carry you then."

He placed her arm around his neck and carefully stood, taking great care to ensure that Jon's cloak continued to cover her. She nuzzled her head into the gap between his shoulder and his neck, his presence giving her comfort as it always had.

"I missed you." She muttered. As she drifted out of consciousness she finally grasped what the wolf mind had been trying to tell her when she saw him. _Mate._

~~/~~


	18. Part 18

Part 18:

Daenerys paced from one end of the long room to the other. Tyrion, Varys and Jorah watched her in silence. She stopped and stared at the two direwolves in the room. The one that she had been told was Nymeria, Arya's wolf-sister, stared back until she looked away. The direwolves had not let her be since the battle, there were always at least two with her at all times and Nymeria was often one of them. She had tried shutting doors behind them, but the howling and attention it caused was not worth it. Everybody was telling her how lucky she was to have a wolf-guard, but she felt like a prisoner.

 _"They're not protecting me."_ She reminded herself and her hand unconsciously touched her stomach. _"They're protecting her."_ She quickly moved her hand away from her stomach and angrily swiped some stray hair away from her face. Her stomach was still flat, and there was no need for her advisers to know that she was pregnant yet.

Her mind drifted back to that night on the boat. She remembered the knock on the door, the look on Jon's face when she had opened it. He hadn't said a word and neither had she. She had let him in and they had just stood there for a moment. She wasn't sure who had started the kiss? She suspected it was her.

That night should have been sweet, but it hadn't been. It had been raw, desperate. There was need, there was desire, they both had an emptiness that needed to be filled, but there had been no love. He had talked in his sleep, and the name on his lips had been Ygritte. To ask him about it would have been to admit that it had happened, so she never did.

He had come to her room every night since, and to her tent when they were on the road. She had tried to use the tricks on him that she had used on Khal Drogo, to make him love her. But Jon Snow was not a conquer, and as such, she could not win him by conquering him. He had wanted it to be love, she knew that, but it wasn't.

She remembered the last night that they had shared. He had woken so violently that he had almost thrown her from the bed. His breathing was heavy and ragged and he was covered in sweat. He looked so lost, so broken, she had tried to get him to talk to her but it was like she wasn't even there. She had resorted to shaking him. "Jon! Jon, look at me!" but he wouldn't look.

Finally his eyes focused on her and she almost wished he hadn't. She wasn't used to people being that raw and open with their emotions. But Jon Snow wore no masks. It made him a terrible politician and a brilliant leader. His people had no reason not to trust him. Her people had plenty of reasons not to trust her.

"Jon, what happened?" She didn't like having to beg.

"The Wall…" He'd whispered. "The Wall has fallen."

His words didn't make any sense. And neither did the tears running down his face. He'd clung to her and sobbed. She didn't know what to do, what to believe. Here was this man, King of the North, weeping like a baby over a dream that the Wall had fallen. She'd tried to comfort him, to reassure him that it wasn't real, but he'd pulled away from her.

"You don't believe me?" He'd asked as he'd pushed her away and gotten out of bed.

"Jon, how can you expect me to?" She'd asked.

He'd just nodded, silently dressed, and left. By the time she had gotten up the next day he was already heatedly arguing with Tyrion about it. He hadn't come to her tent the next night, and she had been too proud to go to his.

Days passed. Jon was a driven man, possessed, unable to focus on anything other than getting back to Winterfell. Even when he was angry he was so calm. Tyrion had tried to help, but he had only made it worse. A lesser man might have threatened Tyrion's life. Jon did little more than cut him off mid-sentence, express a need to get back to his family, apologise, and put some space between them.

Daenerys had met many types of men; violent men like Khal Drogo, cruel men like Viserys, ambitious men like Xaro, clever men like Daario… she had understood them all. She had learnt how to manipulate and control then all in the end. But not Jon Snow.

Thangs had gotten even worse once Lyanna Mormont had arrived. Daenerys remembered the look in Jon's eyes as he had handed her Arya's note.

"Do you believe me now?" He had asked before quickly leading Lyanna away to convince her that he cousin, Jorah, did not need to be executed on the spot.

Daenerys had tried to keep the note ransom, she had read it so many times that she had memorised every word. But Jon had never come and asked for it back, Ser Davos had.

The arrival at Winterfell had been careful and well executed. Sansa Stark had shown that she had firm control of the Northern Lords, and the Northern Lords had shown that they did not agree with the alliance but would follow House Stark. Sansa had pointed out that Jon had been right in making an alliance with the Wildlings and that this was no different, she had pointed out that the dragons would be an asset against the Night King and that Cersei was a mutual enemy. Publicly house Stark was united, in private however, Sansa was not timid about voicing her opinions.

Jon had wanted to speak alone with Sansa but Daenerys had not allowed it. Sansa had just looked her up and down and shrugged. Once the yelling between the two siblings started Daenerys had regretted her decision. And Jon had only made things worse by starting with a fatal mistake, he had asked Sansa how she could have let Arya go north. Apparently nobody _let_ Arya Stark do anything. Now that Daenerys had seen the wolf-girl for herself she understood.

Daenerys paced the room again.

"Your Grace," Jorah asked. "Is there anything that we can do to help?"

Daenerys glared at Nymeria again. "Wake Arya Stark up and get her to call her direwolves off." She snapped.

"You know," Tyrion said softly. "You should really be using this to your advantage."

"How?" Daenerys snapped.

"Get out there." Tyrion advised. "Visit the wounded, check on your people, let the Northern Lords see that you are followed by a wolf-guard. This is exactly what you need to bring the Northern Lords to heal. Jon and Sansa are distracted. The way I see it, you have until about two minutes after Arya Stark wakes up to milk this for all that it is worth."

Varys nodded. "It's good advice, your grace."

Daenerys looked at her advisers, was this a good idea or not? Tyrion had seemed so helpful, until they had landed on Dragonstone, but ever since then things had gone wrong. She didn't really trust Varys, you never could tell what webs the spider was weaving. She looked to Jorah, he had been the most loyal, and he was too in love with her to betray her.

"You're from the north, what would you have me do?"

Jorah looked up at her in surprise. "I, uh, your grace…" He frowned and looked away for a moment. Slowly he looked back at her. "Honestly, I would advise against it. It could be seen that the wolves are protecting you, but it could also be viewed that you are being watched and guarded. Direwolves are the sigil of House Stark so, unless you have a Stark child in your womb, people are going to look to other explanations."

Daenerys' hand moved to her stomach defensively. She maintained eye contact with Jorah and watched as his eyes widened in shock. "Arya said it's a girl." She replied.

"Ah, I see." Jorah replied looking from Daenerys to the direwolves and then to the ground. "So Lady Arya willed them to protect her niece, and because she collapsed without telling them they could stop they are still doing so."

Daenerys nodded.

"Does Jon know?" Tyrion asked quietly.

Daenerys shook her head. "Jon Snow knows nothing." She sighed and sat down.

"Has anybody seen Missandei?" She asked. "Does anybody know how Grey Worm is?" She looked from one advisor to another but none of them would meet her eyes. "He's dead, isn't he?"

Varys slowly nodded. "He died this morning, your grace, nobody has seen Missandei since."

~~/~~


	19. Part 19

Part 19:

Gendry sighed heavily and got to work stoking the forge fires. It was two days after the battle and everything was still in chaos. So many people were injured, so many more were dead. Nobody had told him to start forging again but he knew there was another war to come. People would need swords, and armour. He didn't have to forge today, but he didn't know what else to do. He needed to find a way to quieten his mind, a distraction, perhaps the forge could give him that?

He couldn't get the battle out of his head. Even worse, he couldn't get Arya out of his head. She had been something magnificent atop of that direwolf, he had allowed it to distract him to the point of almost getting killed. Suddenly he was drawn back to the moment that she had given him her weapon. He had dreamed about it the last two nights, but in his dreams it was different. He'd dreamed of being in the middle of the battle, safe in a ring of direwolves, of her handing him the Baratheon stick, but in his dream she had told him that she had made it for him. In his dream she had kissed him before jumping on that direwolf.

Gendry shook his head. "What the hells is wrong with you?" He asked himself. "She was just a girl when you knew her. A brave, scary, capable girl that drove you insane, but just a girl."

It was wrong, he didn't have any right to feel this way, she wouldn't return it. As the fire got hotter he started heating some metal in a pot. He checked his tools and tried to make a plan for what he was going to make. Another image came into his mind. This time it was Arya taking out the dragon. He had truly thought her lost then.

Gendry remembered watching her fall, he remembered turning to look at Jon, knowing the same horror and fear that he saw in Jon must be reflecting in his own face as well. A moment later both men (and the wolves with them) had broken into a run trying to get to the dragon, to Arya, Sander Clegane had been the only one who could keep up. They had battled their way around to the front of the dragon when they had seen the Night King. The three men worked as a team. This had to end and they were going to end it or die trying. Not one of them had seen Arya until the wave of life magic had washed over them.

People were calling it fire magic but Gendry knew that they were wrong. He had felt it, been standing in it. All of the dead around them had fallen, the snow had instantly melted and fresh grass was beneath their feet, there were even a few flowers. It was life magic, just as the Night King's magic was death magic. He had been thrown to the ground when the opposing magics had collided.

He'd been stunned for a moment by the flowers and grass beneath him, he'd looked up to see Arya. She was engulfed in violet coloured flame, naked as her name day, her eyes focused on the Night King. Gendry remembered watching her start running over the newly sprung field towards the Night King, he remembered hearing her howl and watching her leap impossibly high into the air, he remembered watching her change into a direwolf before she hit the ground. The two enemies had collided where the two magics had collided, the wolf had torn the Night King apart.

Gendry was drawn out of his thought by the sound of somebody clearing their throat. He looked up to see Rodrik Forgestone holding two plates of food. The two men had met the day before, Rodrik had explained who he was and the two had talked for hours.

"Thought I'd find you here." Rodrik muttered and handed him one of the plates. "I'm guessing you haven't eaten?"

"Foods the last thing on my mind." Gendry admitted as he took the plate.

The two ate by the fire and discussed what to forge for the day. They had very different training but they worked well together, as the day passed the two were well on the path to becoming friends. That night Gendry dreamt of Arya again, but for some reason he didn't feel so conflicted the next morning. Maybe it was because for the first time in many weeks the sun had risen? The shortest winter on record was drawing to an end.

~~/~~

Jon blinked at the sunlight coming through Arya's window. He had slept in the chair beside her bed, again. Sansa had barely been able to convince him to get out of his dirty cloths and have a bath while Maester Wolkan checked Arya over. By the time Jon had returned to Arya's room she was in fresh clothes and tucked into her bed. Sansa had arranged for two large soft chairs to be brought into the room and Jon had spent most of his time in one of those chairs ever since.

Arya looked so small tucked into the bed. In her sleep you could almost mistake her for being somewhat delicate. But Jon knew better, Arya had always been fierce. He heard the bells ringing, signalling the return of the sun, but he felt no joy in it.

"Wake up, Ary." He whispered. "Wake up."

To his surprise she listened to him. He thought he was imagining it at first, she moved in her sleep, then slowly she blinked and rolled over. Turning away from him.

"Arya?" He whispered.

She rolled back towards him and blinked again. "Hey." She whispered back. "Why are we whispering?" She started to sit up slowly and he pulled her into a hug.

"Gods, Arya." He muttered as he held her close. "Don't ever scare me like that again!"

"No promises." Arya replied. "How long have I been out?"

They talked for a while but Arya got tired quickly. Jon promised to let her rest and went to find Sansa and tell her that Arya was awake. After telling Sansa he went to the forge in search of Gendry.

As Jon approached the forge he was surprised to see another man working with Gendry, Jon knew that there were other blacksmiths, but there were also other forges, and this one had been specifically given to Gendry.

"Lord Snow." Gendry greeted in his usual manner.

"Gendry," Jon replied. "Who's your friend?"

Gendry smiled. "He's somebody you need to meet actually." Gendry put his hammer down. "Lord Jon Snow of Winterfell, please allow me to introduce you to Rodrik Forgestone, he was the first to volunteer to help your sister, Lady Arya." Gendry couldn't help but smirk as Jon looked from the older man to him and back again.

Jon offered his hand to Rodrik and Rodrik clasped it in a two handed greeting. "I'm also her second blacksmith." Rodrik added.

Jon looked at both men again. They could have passed for family. "What is it with my sister and blacksmiths?" He asked.

Gendry shrugged, and Rodrik laughed.

"She told me she likes the way blacksmiths think." Rodrik replied. Then his face became more serious. "How is she?"

"Awake." Jon replied. He glanced at Gendry. "That's why I'm here, to let Gendry know she's awake."

Rodrik nodded. "And the fever?"

Jon looked down. "Maester Wolkan is still concerned."

"Aye, he should be." Rodrik agreed. "She's had that fever for weeks."

They talked for a while. Jon promised to tell Arya that both men had asked after her. He checked on her a few times during the day, by mid-afternoon Arya was up and dressed, she'd eaten, and her and Sansa had only had one argument. Life was good, or so he thought. The fourth time he went to check on her he could hear the yelling from down the hall, but the other voice wasn't Sansa, it was Daenerys!

Jon broke into a run and burst into the room. "What the hells is going on?!" He demanded.

Daenerys spun on Jon. "Tell your sister to make her damn wolves back off!"

Nymeria growled and Arya smirked at Daenerys. "You should calm down, you'll hurt the baby." She turned to Jon. "Nymeria's been trying to protect your daughter, do you want me to tell her to stop?"

Daenerys slapped Arya. Arya caught her arm and twisted it bringing her to the ground. "Let's get something very clear," She whispered into Daenerys's ear. "You are not my queen, I could take your remaining dragon from you if I wanted to, and the only reason that I saved your life out on that battlefield is because the child growing inside of you is my blood."

"Jon vowed -"

"Yes." Arya cut Daenerys off. "Jon Snow, basted of Ned Stark, bent the knee. But Ned Stark never had a bastard. Jon is my cousin, not my brother, and he is not a bastard. He parents were married in a secret ceremony in Dorne, the same ceremony that annulled his father's previous marriage to Elia Martell."

"No." Daenerys whimpered.

"Yes." Arya replied. "His identity was kept from him to protect him from Robert Baratheon and our father was killed before he could tell my cousin the truth. He only found out a week ago. Any vow made under the name Jon Snow is now meaningless. His name is Aegon Targaryen, Seventh of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."

"Arya that's enough!" Jon yelled. "I don't want the iron throne, now let her go!" Arya obeyed and Daenerys fell to the floor. "Was that necessary?" he asked Arya angrily.

"You were never going to tell her." Arya replied. "She wants to be queen because she thinks it's her right. Somebody had to remind her that it isn't. Hells, Varys has as strong of a claim as she does, he's a Blackfyre!"

"What?!" Daenerys asked in shock. She had moved herself into a sitting position but hadn't stood up.

Arya sat down cross-legged in front of her. "Varys is a Blackfyre." She replied calmly. "I would have told you sooner if you hadn't come in yelling and demanding and making claims you don't have the right to. You are not the only person with King's Blood in this room. Our blood were Kings long before your blood learnt how to harness dragons. And Aegon has both."

"I guess I could have handled things better." Daenerys muttered.

Arya nodded. "So can we talk now?" Daenerys nodded. "Good." Arya stood up then offered Daenerys a hand. Daenerys took it.

Jon just looked from one to the other in shock, one minute they were threatening each other and now they were friends? Suddenly something Arya had said registered to him. Daenerys was pregnant.

"When were you going to tell me that you were pregnant?" He asked Daenerys.

"When were you going to tell me that you are my nephew?" Daenerys replied.

"When I found the right time." He muttered.

~~/~~


	20. Part 20

Part 20:

Arya scowled at her reflection as Sansa fussed with her hair.

"Don't do that," Sansa scolded. "It's not lady like."

Arya rolled her eyes. "Yes, Septa Mordane." She replied sarcastically.

Sansa paused. "She tried to save me, you know, she told me to run and tried to slow them down. But I was too stupid to get away. I wasn't as smart as you. They cut off her head and put it on a pike outside my window. They put father's head there as well."

"Sansa, I'm sorry. I didn't mean -"

"I know." Sansa went back to braiding Arya's hair.

"I was at my sword fighting lesson." Arya said quietly. "My teacher held them off with a wooden training sword."

"Cersei's going to pay." Sansa said firmly. "But to do that we have to work with Daenerys, tonight is important."

Arya sighed. "I'm wearing a dress, aren't I?"

Sansa nodded. "We have to put on a good show, try and act like you haven't spent the last month living with wolves." She sighed. "You realise you're likely to get at least one marriage proposal in the next week, possibly even tonight, try not to start any extra wars."

Arya nodded. "Don't marry me off to anybody without mu consent and we're good. I'll behave, just don't get used to it."

Sansa nodded. "I think we're done." She sighed. "Are we really going to tell the North that our brother is actually our cousin and his name's not Jon, it's Aegon?"

"Only if Daenerys forces us to. I think I have her under control for now."

Sansa nodded. "I can't believe she was stupid enough to slap you. I mean who in their right mind would think it's smart to slap the hero that just took out the Night King?"

"I'm not a hero." Arya muttered.

"I'm sure Queen Nymeria said the same thing." Sansa replied.

Arya glanced at the blade at Sansa's waist. "How come you get a weapon and I don't."

"Because I'm Lady Stark." Sansa replied. "Besides, it was a gift from Gendry, I'd be insulting him if I took it off."

Arya froze. "You like him?"

Sansa paused and looked Arya up and down. "I'm not going to dignify that with an answer." She replied. "Let's go find Jon."

Sansa, Jon and Arya entered the great hall together. Sansa on Jon's right arm and Arya on his left. Sansa had made sure that they were a little late, she wanted everybody to be seated before they got there. When they entered the hall everyone in the room stood, well everyone apart from Daenerys, who was sitting at the high table.

There were cheers and clapping at the sight of Arya, and people were calling out everything from Warg-Queen to Azor Ahai. She gripped Jon's arm tighter. When they had gotten a third of the way up the room Daenerys reluctantly rose to her feet as well, a forced smile on her face. Arya caught sight of Gendry and nodded in his direction. He mouthed the words "Mi'lady." and she smiled.

Finally they got to the high table, Jon pulled out her seat for her and then did the same for Sansa before sitting beside Daenerys. Arya tried to stay out of most of the talking, it wasn't that hard as her eyes and her thoughts kept wandering back to Gendry.

 _Mate._ What the hells had her wolf mind been thinking? Gendry didn't see her like that. She'd just been a kid, a scary angry kid. Sure, a bond had grown between them, but he wasn't her mate, was he? She thought back to watching him smith when they had been prisoners at Harrenhal, to the many nights on the road when she had watch him sleep, jealous that she couldn't sleep herself. She thought of how he had watched over her, and of how sad and hopeless he had looked the day that Melisandre had taken him away.

An elbow from Sansa brought her back to reality. She looked up to see that Ned Dayne was standing in front of her expectantly.

"I'm sorry." She muttered. "I guess I'm still not feeling that well."

"No need to apologise, lady Arya. I was just complimenting you on the battle."

Arya nodded. "I see you carry Dawn, so you are the Sword of the Morning now?" Ned nodded. "Well then I apologise for beating you to the Night King, I'm sure you would have been more than capable of dispatching him."

"Again, no apologies needed, my lady. Perhaps when you are feeling stronger we could train together?"

Arya nodded. "Perhaps." She agreed.

Ned flashed her a brilliant smile and bowed deeply then left the table. Arya resisted the urge to sigh and let he eyes sweep the room, when they reached Gendry he was looking away, engaged in conversation with somebody across the table.

Arya looked down at her plate, she had eaten little but she suddenly had no appetite. She finally allowed the sigh to happen. "Lady Sansa, may I be excused."

Sansa nodded. Arya stood, she hugged Sansa, then hugged Jon, the signs of affection both genuine and something that Sansa had asked her to do. As she left the room she walked around the edge instead of down the middle which allowed her to pass Sander Clegane and Gendry. She intentionally lost her balance forcing Gendry to place a hand out to steady her.

"Mi'lady, are you okay?"

Arya nodded. "Just a little tired, thank you Gendry."

Gendry frowned. "Maybe I should walk with you?"

Arya nodded. "That would be nice. I'm sorry to pull you away from your dinner."

Gendry just smiled and stood up, he offered her his arm and she took it, allowing him the lead her from the great hall. They walked in silence through the halls of Winterfell, finally reaching her room.

"Come in." Arya said gently as she opened the door.

Gendry hesitated. "Maybe that's not such a good idea? When you're feeling better…"

"I'm fine Gendry." She smiled at him reassuringly. "I fell into you on purpose." Gendry looked at her in shock and she sighed. "It seemed smarter than dismissing one of the best fighters in Dorne then asking you to walk with me. Sansa asked me not to start any extra wars. Now come in before you let all the heat out."

Gendry seemed about to accept the invitation until a servant girl entered the hallway. Arya recognised the girl and called her over.

"Maria, could you get us some food and drink? Gendry here abandoned his supper to make sure I got back to my room safely."

The servant girl nodded. "Yes, mi'lady."

Arya smirked at Gendry. "Now you have to come in."

Gendry gave her a weak smile back. "It's not very lady like inviting a man into your room, mi'lady."

Arya's eyes widened. "That's what you're worried about? I turned into a direwolf and defeated the Night King three days ago, I think I can protect myself."

"I know you can." Gendry muttered and obediently entered the room.

The two armchairs had been moved to by the fire, which was going quite well thanks to Maria. They sat by the fire and talked for a while, but moved to the table when Maria brought in the food and drink.

"I wasn't sure if you wanted ale or wine." Maria said putting down both.

Arya nodded. "Thank you, Maria."

Maria checked the fire then left.

Gendry talked about what had happened with Melisandre, about how she had told him who his father was and about how she had planned to kill him, he left out the rape, but Arya had seen it in her fever dreams. Arya picked at her food and told him about what had happened to her after their paths had separated. She told him about going to Bravos but didn't go into details and he didn't push. After a while they moved back to the chairs by the fire. Arya noticed that Gendry was sticking to the ale and wondered if it had anything to do with what Melisandre had done to him. She didn't ask though. How do you tell somebody that you had a vision about the night they got raped?

They talked for hours, when the ale ran out Gendry switched to wine, but Arya notice he was drinking it very slowly. She frowned, she had to say something.

"You don't like wine? I can get somebody to fetch more ale."

Gendry shook his head. "No, it's fine, it's just…"

Arya shook her head. "You don't have to tell me if it's something painful." She stood up. "I'll get somebody to bring more ale."

Gendry put his glass down and stood up as well. "It's late, I should go."

Arya nodded. "Yeah, I guess." She smiled at him. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

Gendry smiled back. "Yes, mi'lady."

She reached up to hug him, he encircled his arm around her waist and hugged her back. "I really did miss you." She muttered into his shoulder.

"I missed you too." He muttered back. "More than you know." The hug lasted longer than it should have, it was Gendry who eventually pulled away. He looked down at her gently and caressed her cheek. "Good night mi'lady."

Arya felt a sudden surge of boldness. "Good night, my Gendry" she whispered and quickly placed a light kiss on his lips.

"Mi'la-"

She kissed him again, catching him open mouthed this time. He kissed her back, gently at first then then more passionately. He pulled back and lent his forehead against hers as they both gasped for breath.

"That was… unexpected." He muttered. He stroked her face gently and pulled away. "I should go."

Arya nodded. He had his hand on the door handle before she spoke again. "Gendry?"

He looked back at her and smiled. "Yes, mi'lady?"

"What if I don't want you to go?"

Gendry swallowed hard. "You shouldn't say that, mi'lday."

She took a couple of steps towards him. "I don't want you to go."

"It would be a bad idea for me to stay." Gendry replied.

Arya crossed the last distance between them and placed her hand on top of his on the door knob. She looked him straight in the eye. "I don't want you to go." She whispered.

His lips crashed against hers and the wolf inside of her rejoiced. This was right, he was her mate, they were meant to be together. They surrendered to each other, all thoughts of consequences pushed aside. Later, as Arya lay in Gendry's arms, she realised that for the first time in a long time she felt at peace.

~~/~~


	21. Part 21

Part 21:

Gendry had been awake for over an hour but he couldn't bring himself to move. He was still trying to process the fact that he was in Arya Stark's room, in Arya Stark's bed, with a naked Arya Stark curled up beside him. Well that and Arya had him effectively pinned to the bed. Obviously Jon Snow was going to kill him, so he might as well enjoy this while he could.

The sun started to rise and he knew that Rodrik would be wondering why he wasn't already at the forge. He sighed and returned to watching Arya sleep. The fire in the hearth was little more than embers and the room was cool, yet Arya seemed amazingly warm against him. He gently stroked a stray piece of hair from her face and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. Arya responded by snuggling in closer. He could happily spend the rest of his life like this. If her brother found them like this that would most likely be the case. He told himself for the hundredth time that he needed to get out of bed, and for the hundredth time he failed to do so.

She pulled him closer and it suddenly occurred to him that she wasn't actually asleep. Deciding to call her bluff he brushed his lips against hers. She responded instantly to the kiss. As he drew back her eyes flickered open and she gave him a lazy smile.

"How long have you been awake?" he asked softly.

"A while," She admitted. "I just didn't want you to leave."

He raised an eyebrow at that. "Possessive much, mi'lady?"

"It's a direwolf thing." She replied with a wolfish grin.

Gendry sighed. "I really do need to get out of here… before your brother kills me."

"I'll protect you." Arya muttered and pulled his face down for another kiss. They were still kissing when Lady Sansa opened the door.

"Arya, get up you lazy head, I've got those new leathers for you and… oh."

Gendry froze in fear. Arya's reaction however was more indignant. "You may be Lady Stark but there is still such a thing as knocking! There was a time when a closed door was respected in this Castle."

"Oh Arya calm down." Sansa replied dismissively. "We're all adults here. I'll give Gendry a minute to get some pants on."

The moment she stepped out of the door Gendry leaped out of bed and started desperately searching of his clothes. Arya sighed and got out of bed. She walked over to the fire and added some wood and then started dressing slowly. Gendry didn't understand how she could be so calm. He dressed hurriedly and was just shoving his boots on when Lady Sansa re-entered the room. He started hurriedly moving towards the door.

"And where do you think you're going?" Sansa asked pointedly. "I've arranged for breakfast to be brought in, if you think you're leaving this room without a conversation you have another thing coming." Sansa gestured towards the table. "Now sit."

Gendry looked at Arya and she just shrugged. He suddenly realised that both Stark women were equally scary on their own ways. The safest course of action was to obey.

"I'm going to assume that what I just walked in on means you two are betrothed." Sansa continued.

"I… uh." Gendry looked from Sansa to Arya but it seemed that Arya was just as interested in his answer as Sansa was. "We haven't discussed it." He finally replied.

Just then servants arrived with food and drink. Gendry was spared for a few moments. Arya finished dressing and sighed. "I feel naked without a blade." She muttered and sat down at the table. She turned her attention on her older sister. "Stop picking on him, Sansa, that's my job."

Sansa chuckled and Gendry felt some of the tension leave his body.

"What did you think I was going to do to you, Gendry?" She asked softly as she picked up a piece of bread and stated slathering butter on it. "Arya will do what she will do, clearly she chooses to do it with you. Just… be discrete. And go easy on Jon, he still sees Arya as a little girl, it's going to take him some time to come to terms with the fact that she's a grown woman." Gendry nodded mutely.

"It's the bastard thing," Arya muttered around a mouthful of food. "He's spent his whole life being told he's not good enough. Load of rubbish. Gendry's ten times better than most people."

Sansa nodded. "I should have taken that into consideration, forgive me, Gendry."

"I, uh, there's nothing to forgive Lady Stark." He stuttered.

Sansa laughed. "You don't have to call me Lady Stark in a family situation, Sansa is fine."

"Good luck with that." Arya muttered around another mouthful of food.

Just then there was a gentle knock on the door. "Arya, you awake?" Jon called.

Arya raised an eyebrow pointed and Sansa. "Come in," She called out. "See, Sansa, some people know how to knock." Sansa just shrugged.

Gendry watched as Jon entered the room, his expression softening at the sight of Arya, then grew confused at the sight of Gendry. "Arya, Sansa… Gendry?"

"Gendry and Arya fell asleep talking last night." Sansa muttered as she reached for the honey. "Apparently I woke them."

"Oh." Jon replied. He surveyed the room and his eyes moved to the mostly full wine glass beside the chair that Gendry had sat in. "Those chairs aren't that comfortable to sleep in, how's your neck?"

Sansa scoffed. "They not that bad, Jon, we've both slept in them."

Arya gave Sansa a surprised look. "When did you sleep in them?"

Sansa bit her lower lip. "The first night after… after you defeated the Night King. Your fever was pretty bad, Maester Wolkan wasn't confident that you were going to make it through the night. We took turns watching over you and changing your compress."

"Oh." Arya replied quietly. "I didn't realise, thank you."

"Any time, horse face." Sansa replied.

Arya responded by throwing a piece of bread at her. "You know I really hated that nickname."

"I know you did, and I hated how much more freedom you had than I did, that's why I was so mean to you." She tossed the piece of bread back and Arya.

Arya pulled a face. "I didn't have more freedom than you, I just knew that the rules were wrong so I ignored them."

Sansa sighed. "I know, but I was stupid enough to believe that the rules were right and I wanted a pretty little sister, not one that played with bows and got covered in mud."

"And I wanted one that would go on adventures with me, instead of sitting in a corner doing needlework."

Gendry felt like he was an outsider looking in as he watched the two sisters interacted. Clearly neither of them were comfortable with the sentiment of a few minutes ago. "Do they always fight like this?" He asked Jon.

Jon shook his head. "It used to be far worse, and I'm not just talking hair pulling. Rob and I were always having to separate them. I got quite good at throwing Arya over my shoulder." He chuckled. "Rob was the sweet talker, so he always got to distract Sansa while I'd bribe Arya away with promises of secret sword fighting lessons."

"Right," Arya replied. "Then we'd get caught and mother would have a fit at you."

Jon shrugged. "It was worth it."

Arya smirked. "Remember the time you broke my leg?"

"Wish I could forget, you mother wanted the weapons master to give me a beating, I can't believe I let Rob talk me into picking up that war hammer." He replied solemnly.

Arya nodded. "Remember Rob insisted if they gave you a beating they would have to give him one too as it was his idea."

Jon nodded. "Gods I miss him." Jon turned to Gendry. "Rob and Arya both hated that I was treated differently for being a bastard, they were always defending me, I never really realised how lucky I was. The kicker is, turns out I'm not a bastard after all."

Gendry looked at Jon in surprise. "What, how?"

"Jon's our cousin, not our brother." Sansa replied.

"Not that it changes anything," Arya added with a shrug. "He's still our blood. His parents were married in secret and the marriage was hidden."

"Why?" Gendry asked.

Jon took a deep breath. "Becau-"

"Wait." Arya cut Jon off. She quickly moved to the door and opened it. She stood still, as if listening for a moment then shut the door and nodded. "Safe."

"Because my mother was Lyanna Stark," Jon replied. "And my father was Rhaegar Targaryen."

Gendry nearly dropped the piece of bread in his hand. "How long have you known?"

"About a week." Jon replied. "We're kind of keeping the information to family members only at the moment."

"Then why tell me?" The words were out of Gendry's mouth before he even realised he had thought them.

"Because you're family." Sansa replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Or, at least you will be. It's pretty clear how you feel about Arya and it's abundantly clear that the feelings are returned. I was only half joking earlier when I suggested that the two of you should be betrothed."

"Sansa, there's no need to rush into anything." Jon replied.

"I think it's a good idea." Arya said. "That is, unless Gendry doesn't want to marry me." Suddenly she reminded him of the younger her, feigning confidence but really afraid.

He got up from his seat and knelt down in front of her, taking her hand in his. "Mi'lady," he said gently. "You could marry almost anybody you wanted, you can do much better than a humble blacksmith, you could marry a Lord or a Prince."

"I've never wanted a Lord or a Prince, that's not me, I'd rather run my own holdfast than run somebody else's." Arya replied.

"Aye, and you'd be good at it, mi'lady." Gendry replied. He paused and studied her for a moment. "Every holdfast needs a blacksmith." He replied slowly. "If you would have me, I'm yours."

"Good," Arya replied. "Because if you had said no I would have had to kill you."

Gendry raised an eyebrow at her. "Is that so, mi'lady?" He asked with a smirk.

"Direwolves aren't good at sharing." Arya replied. "I claimed you long ago."

Gendry gave her a gentle smile. "Is that so?"

Arya laughed, she leant forward and brushed the lightest of kisses over his lips. "Marry me." She whispered.

"As mi'lady commands." He replied with a smirk.

They spent the next hour discussing the engagement. Jon wanted to wait and Arya wanted to get married straight away. Arya won. It was mid-morning by the time Gendry reached the forge.

Rodrik looked up as he approached. "You get lost, lad?" he greeted.

"Ambushed actually," Gendry replied with a grin on his face. "By direwolves."

"Oh, and how'd that work out?" Rodrik asked.

Gendry shrugged. "I'm getting married."

"Interesting," Rodrik replied. "when?"

"Tonight, actually." Gendry replied.

"That's rather hasty." Rodrik muttered. "Who's the lucky bride?"

"Arya." Gendry thought if he grinned any harder his face would crack.

Rodrik put his hammer down and clasped Gendry in a hug. "I'm glad, she really cares for you."

The day passed quickly and Gendry got very little smithing done. Sander Clegane was sent to fetch him to the meeting in the great hall where the engagement was announced amongst other business. Despite Gendry's hesitations there was a surprising amount of support for the match. Lord Royce was one of the first to offer his approval, stating that any children would be Starks and he hoped they had a dozen of them.

After the meeting Sander pulled him aside to congratulate and threaten him. Once Sander had finished with him it was Brianne's turn. Even Podrick had to put his two coppers in. Then Jon pulled him aside for a while but Sander soon stole him back for a training session and went hard on him. Once Sander had worked him over Davos pulled him away to meet with various lords and ladys, then Sansa rescued him from that…

By the time he sank down into a bath mid-afternoon he was exhausted. He actually fell asleep in the bath and nearly downed himself much to Davos' amusement. Jon came in with clothes for him to wear. The reality of it didn't really set in until Davos told him to pack up his things to be moved to his new rooms.

"Right," Gendry muttered. "Guess I won't be coming back here."

Jon nodded. "Arya and Sansa spent half the day choosing the new rooms. You're actually getting what used to be our Grandfather's living quarters, it's quite impressive. Four or five rooms including a bedroom a study and an entertaining area, it even has its own privy. But it was shut off after Rickard Stark was killed so they've only managed to sort through a couple of rooms so far. Gods know what they've found in there." Jon gestured to the small desk in the corner of Gendry's current room. "You'll have a lot more room to design things than you do now."

"That sounds like a small house." Gendry muttered.

"Or a large one in Fleabottom." Davos added.

Jon nodded. "This castle was designed around the idea of keeping families together and safe over the long winters, there were once fifteen Stark's raising their own families in different areas of the castle without getting in each other's way. Father, I mean Uncle Ned, shut off the main family area after the war and we used one of the lesser areas." Jon shook his head. "Uncle." He muttered. "Ned Stark is my Uncle."

Davos clasped Jon's shoulder. "Give it time, lad, it's a lot to take in."

Jon nodded and turned back to Gendry. "So, how many people have threatened to kill you if you hurt Arya so far today?"

"I've lost count." Gendry replied.

Jon nodded. "I won't kill you." He replied. "I'll make you wish you were dead…"

"Still not as scary as Lyanna Mormont." Gendry replied. "That young woman has a scary imagination and an unhealthy fascination with bears."

"Right," Davos interjected. "The husband to be has been bathed, groomed, and terrified half out of his mind, I think we're ready for a wedding." He lent in closely to Gendry. "And for the record, I know a pirate or two that would strap you to the bow of their boat as a figurehead and piss on you."

Gendry shook his head. "Okay, that beats Lyanna Mormont having me stripped down, lashed to a tree on Bear Island and my parts covered in honey, but only just."

As they made their way to the Weirtree Jon and Davos went over the vows with him. Arya had refused to be married under the seven, Gendry, being a southerner didn't know the prayers of the old gods and was quite surprised and relieved to discover that the religion was far less structured. They had basically created their own words. Jon had pointed out that to wildlings it was just as simply as saying "I am yours, and you are mine." The comment had caused Sansa to look at him questioningly but Arya had simply said that she liked that so they had worked it into their vows.

As they got closer to the tree Gendry caught sight of Arya. She looked amazing, Nymeria stood beside her. Her dress was yellow and white and she had yellow and white ribbons woven into her hair.

The ribbons used for the hand binding were also white and yellow. Gendry couldn't help but suspect that the yellow had been chosen as a nod to his Baratheon heritage. The Maester said his piece then Gendry and Arya joint hands and said their vows together.

"By the old gods, by the Weirtree, by salt and earth, by wind and water, by fire and ice. I am yours, and you are mine. Woven together as one. I pledge to you, I will be your family."

The kiss was only meant to be a short kiss but it didn't quite happen that way. It was only Jon clearing his throat loudly that made them stop. The night passed quickly, as the feast moved on somebody made a comment that it was time for a bedding. Gendry started to object but Arya gently placed her hand over his.

"It's okay." She said with unusual gentleness.

Gendry shook his head. "I don't want anybody seeing you naked but me."

Arya laughed. "It's a little late for that, don't you think?" She sculled back her wine and looked around the hall. "It's time for a bedding." She stated as she stood up.

Later she would confess to him that she and Sansa had discussed it at length and decided it was important. It was tradition after all, and if Arya did get pregnant she didn't want there being any doubt as to who the father was. Daenerys looked on in shock at first as Sansa and a group of other women lifted him up. Sansa encouraged Daenerys to join in and the mother of dragons hesitantly did so. He was carried down hallways that seemed unfamiliar, however Sansa seemed more intent on protecting him than stripping him, not allowing his smallclothes to be removed unto they had entered the room and were about to toss him onto the bed.

Arya was soon chucked onto the bed beside him. Sansa was the last person to leave, making sure that all the men had gone and shutting the door behind her. Gendry pulled Arya close and stroked her cheek.

"You're still mi'lady." He whispered.

"I can be your lady," Arya replied. "But I can also be your family."

~~/~~


	22. Part 22

Part 22:

Jorah Mormont walked silently beside his Khaleesi along the balconies of Winterfell. He had been loyal, he had followed her from the very beginning, okay, he had betrayed her once, but he had redeemed himself for that. He had done everything that she had asked of him, and more, much more. She had made him but one promise, that he would be restored as the Lord of Bear Island, but that was yet to happen.

The men of Bear Island avoided him, most likely at Lyanna Mormont's command. He had survived against the Night King, he had passed his trial by combat, and the gods had deemed him worthy. But he would wait. There was no place for a twelve year old girl in battle. Although, it seemed the North had forgotten this. The North remembers, he just had to give it time.

He looked across one of the courtyards and saw the cripple, Brandon Stark, slowly wheeling his way towards the gods wood. Now there was a lost soul. It was heart-breaking to see what had become of the young Lord. There was no way he would have a family or continue the Stark name now. Bran stopped in the middle of the courtyard, seemingly lost in thought. Nobody gave him too much attention. A minute later he blinked, rubbed at his right lower arm as if it was sore, and then started wheeling his chair again as if nothing had happened. Jorah noticed a young woman across the courtyard watching Bran sadly. The woman had dark curly hair and was well armed with a bow and a very nice looking sword. She seemed familiar. Jorah thought for a moment and realised it was the young Lady Reed. Another one who's house was likely doomed unless she married beneath her station or mothered bastards and had them legitimised under her name.

They rounded another corner and another courtyard came into view. His Khaleesi lent against the railing to watch, dislodging a patch of snow and drawing him back into the moment. She was so beautiful, he studied her for a moment longer than he should have before looking to see what had her attention.

Arya Stark. Jorah had to admit the younger Stark sister was impressive. She was wilder than his young cousin's namesake, and that was a thing to say. She was currently training a bunch of, well, low-borns. They still clutched their crazy Dragonglass weapons, although a few had traded them in for real swords. This was one of the larger courtyards, and Arya was training over a hundred people, he watched as she took them through their paces. Suddenly he realised that she wasn't saying words such as parry, thrust etc in Westerosion, she was calling out her instructions in Valyrian.

"Well that's interesting." He muttered.

"Yes." His Khaleesi agreed. "What style of fighting is she training them in?"

Jorah watched for a minute. "Water dancing." He replied. "It's from Bravos, designed to teach people how to be able to fight on boats."

His Khaleesi nodded. "I wonder if the same ideas would work on dragon back?" She murmured thoughtfully.

Jorah sighed. "I would not know." He replied. It did not matter, his Khaleesi was no longer paying him any attention.

The training session continued for about an hour. Jorah had to admit that the young Stark (and she would forever be a Stark now, having married a bastard) handled herself well with that many students. She seemed aware of everything. One moment she would be correcting a stance on one side of the courtyard, the next moment she would be telling somebody on the far side to raise their elbow or loosen their grip. When she called the session to a halt she didn't just dismiss them either. She spent a minute or two speaking with each of them before she let them go. After she had let the last of them go, with a gentle word and a hand on the shoulder, she went to the side of the courtyard and picked up a wineskin. Water was no good out here as it would freeze.

The Khaleesi was moving towards the stairs before Jorah could even process what she was doing. He followed obediently, desperately wishing that he was in front of her as she approached the most dangerous of the Starks.

"That was quite impressive, were did you learn Valyrian?" His Khaleesi asked.

Arya took her time replying. "I don't know much High Valyrian, but Low Valyrian is what they speak in Bravos. I trained there for a few years."

"I see." His Khaleesi replied. "Say something in Low Valyrian for me then."

Jorah's breath caught and his hand moved towards his sword. That might not have been the smartest thing for his Khaleesi to have asked. Arya was unarmed, but the wooden training sword was within her reach and the young Stark was inherently dangerous. Arya looked up at his Khaleesi and smiled in such a way that it reminded Jorah of a wolf bearing it's teeth.

"Eban senagho p'aeske." She said calmly and evenly.

To his Khaleesi's credit she maintained eye contact. "Kill the masters." She replied. "And something in High Valyrian?"

"Valar Morghulis."

"All men must die." Khaleesi smiled back. "But we are not men."

Arya shook her head. "It's not 'all men must die', it's 'all must die'. All must die, all must serve, and all become nothing in the end."

"I serve no one." His Khaleesi replied.

"You must be a poor leader then." Arya replied without hesitation. "A Lord or Lady must serve their people, a King or Queen must serve their Lords and Ladies, if the people's needs are not met it is because those that lead them have failed them."

"A Queen cannot be held responsible if a dish-boy is hungry." His Khaleesi replied in astonishment.

"If not a Queen, then who?" Arya replied. "A Queen who does not have sleepless nights if a dish-boy is hungry is... well…" Her eyes dropped to the sword at the Khaleesi's waist and then looked her in the eye. "As effective as somebody who carries a blade and doesn't know how to even hold it." She finished.

Jorah's hand was on the hilt of his sword now, he took a step forward and started to pull the blade but his Khaleesi stilled him with a gesture.

"Teach me how to hold it then."

Arya seemed taken aback by the reply. "If that is a serious request then yes, I will do so, and I will do it privately. No need to shame you. But not right now." And with that she started walking away.

"And what is more important that serving your Queen." Jorah replied with a low growl.

"A hungry dish-boy, and she's not my Queen, she's yours." Arya tossed the answer over her shoulder as she walked away.

"Khaleesi, do you wish me to -"

"No, she hasn't sworn to me, but she hasn't sworn against me either, let's not make her an enemy."

Jorah nodded. "Very wise, Khaleesi." He replied. But he did not think it was very wise, not at all. His Khaleesi shivered despite her heavy coat. "Perhaps we should move to somewhere warmer?" His beautiful Khaleesi nodded and they made their way indoors.

They soon found Varys and Tyrion. Tyrion had a goblet of wine in his hand as always and the two appeared to be in deep conversation. They both stood as the Khaleesi entered the room but she simply nodded at them and moved to the fire to warm herself so they returned to their conversation.

"It's terrible," Varys complained. "Never have I found it so difficult to make little birds chirp."

"There are as many orphans and stray children in Winterfell as anywhere." Tyrion disagreed.

"Yes," Varys agreed. "But they're _looked after!_ " He said the last piece with a hint of disgust. "They have full bellies and shoes on their feet. They have things to do! Did you know that Lady Arya has a nine year old girl training children to fletch arrows? And the tanners have taken on seven apprentices, seven! And twenty-seven knights have taken on new squires! And her blacksmiths… don't even get me started about her blacksmiths… there are always at least fifteen children by that fire. They've taken to teaching them how to bind handles and make sheaths, some of the older ones are even sharpening swords."

"Really." Tyrion muttered. "That's terrible." He took a large swig of wine.

"It gets worse." Varys continued. "Three days ago they started keeping a pot of stew over one of the forge fires. Every child in Winterfell now knows that if they are hungry or cold they just have to go to that forge. And Lady Arya goes and talks with the children every day after she's finished morning training!"

"So she really was going off to see about a hungry dish-boy." The Khaleesi muttered. She turned her attention on Varys and Jorah was surprised to find that her look was unreadable.

"So, Varys, have you discovered anything useful?"

Varys shook his head. "No, your grace, full birds don't tweet."

The Khaleesi nodded. "Arya told me something interesting a week ago, something that you've been keeping from me."

"You grace, I swear on my mother's grave -"

"And was it your mother or your father that was a Blackfyre?" The Khaleesi asked coldly.

"Your grace, I can explain…"

"Do you remember the conversation we had at Dragonstone?" She watched Varys and he nodded. "I release you from my service, if you are still in Winterfell by nightfall I will keep my word." Varys stood quickly and bowed before wordlessly leaving the room. The Khaleesi turned to Jorah. "Make sure he leaves."

Jorah nodded. "As my Khaleesi requests." He bowed deeply. He was almost at the door when the sweet voice of his Khaleesi caused him to pause.

"Jorah, one last thing."

"Yes Khaleesi?"

"You will get Bear Island back, I promise."

Jorah nodded and left the room. He made his way down to the stables and got a horse. He exited Winterfell and rode far enough away not to be noticed before dismounting his horse. He found a spot on the edge of the trees where he could watch the gate and the Kings road clearly. About an hour later he saw Varys leaving on a horse, another horse beside him heavily laden with far more belongings than he had brought to Winterfell. Jorah followed him for over an hour before revealing himself. Varys was easy to kill. Jorah freed the horses of their burdens and let them go. He dragged the body into the forest and rummaged through his gear enough to make it look like a robbery if someone found the body. He cleaned the blood splashes off of himself and snuck back into Winterfell just in time for Supper.

~~/~~


	23. Part 23

Part 23:

Gendry watched Arya toss and turn in her sleep with growing concern. The night was cold enough to make him shiver and cling to the furs, yet she had tossed them aside. He ran his fingers along her exposed shoulder, she was hot, unnaturally hot, and it was only getting worse. He had already expressed his concerns to Sansa and to Jon, but Arya claimed that she was fine.

He dropped a kiss on her shoulder and sighed, he didn't know what to do. She murmured something in her sleep and he tried to listen, but he didn't understand. She was sleep talking in Valyrian again, that in itself was enough to worry him. Sure, she had learnt some Valyrian, but shouldn't you sleep talk in your native tongue? He ran his fingers down her arm and she turned towards him, the waves of heat radiating from her body chasing away the coldness of the night. He dropped a kiss on her forehead and tried to tell himself that she would be okay, but he didn't believe it.

Her eyes fluttered open and she looked up at him. She looked so beautiful in the low light from the fire. She ran her fingers along the furrows in his brow and he realised that he was frowning. "You're worrying." She whispered softly. "Talk to me."

He gave her a sad smile. "You have a fever." He whispered. "It's cold in here, you shouldn't be this hot."

"I'm okay." She whispered.

He shook his head. "No, you're not." He felt the lump in his throat. "I'm scared I'm going to lose you."

"I'm right here." She whispered and brushed a kiss across his lips. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I don't know if that's a promise you can keep." He whispered back sadly.

Arya rolled on top of him and looked him in the eye. "Gendry, I'm right here, I promise."

He stroked her hair away from her face. "Can you feel how much warmer than me you are? Arya, this isn't normal, you're not okay."

She looked amused. "Normal?" She asked. "I bathed in dragon blood, turned into a direwolf, and defeated the Night King. I turned a field of snow into a field of grass and flowers, and I keep having dreams that Jaqen H'ghar was Azor Ahai. I'm not sure that normal applies anymore."

"Wait, you're saying the faceless men killed Azor Ahai?" Gendry asked in shock.

Arya shook her head. "I'm saying that Azor Ahai was the first faceless man. And I think he caused the doom of Valyria. "

"That doesn't make sense. Those events are thousands of years apart." Gendry muttered.

"It's starting to." Arya replied with a faraway look in her eyes. He touched her cheek and she smiled at him. "You worry too much, _husband_."

He raised an eyebrow at that. "That's my job, _wife._ "

"I thought your job was to make me happy." She replied with a mischievous look in her eyes.

He opened his mouth to reply but before he could say anything she kissed him deeply, making him suddenly very away that she was laying on top of him. "You're trying to distract me." He muttered when they finally came up for air.

"Is it working?"

He answered her question, but not with words. As the night turned to morning he was again very thankful that nobody occupied the neighbouring rooms. However the distraction only lasted so long. Hours later as he watched her lying in his arms he prayed to any god that would listen not to take her from him. As the rest of Winterfell was waking he finally drifted off to sleep.

Hours later Gendry awoke to an empty bed and the sounds of a struggle in the next room. He quickly pulled on some pants and grabbed the Baratheon stick which was sitting in the corner of the bedroom. He moved quietly to the door and listened. He heard the sound of wood hitting wood and someone grunting. He held his weapon in his right hand and threw the door open with his left hand ready to fight, quickly coming face to face with an astonished Sansa, holding a practice sword. He lowered his weapon as his eyes swept the room, finally landing on his rather amused looking wife.

"Coming to rescue me?" Arya asked as she lowered her practice sword.

Gendry felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment. "Something like that." He muttered.

"Gods, he even blushes." Sansa observed running an appreciative eye over his bare chest. "Wasn't I the one that was meant to marry a Baratheon?" She asked in mock jealousy. Arya laughed.

Gendry felt his blush deepen. "I'll, ah… I'll go put a shirt on." He muttered backing back into the bedroom.

He dressed slowly. He knew his sister-in-law was only teasing, but considering what Sansa had been through he sometimes wondered if some of the playful jealousy wasn't real. When he finally emerged from the bedroom again Arya and Sansa were discussing how Sansa's training was coming along.

"What about Jon?" Arya asked.

"After all the years I mocked you for wanting to learn to use a sword?" Sansa asked. "Let's not tell Jon."

Arya nodded. "Okay, so not Brienne, not Sander Clegane, not Jon… what about Podrick?" Arya asked. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind training with you."

Sansa shook her head. "I really don't want anybody else to know."

Arya rolled her eyes. "It's Podrick," she exclaimed. "He wouldn't tell anyone. Hells, it might just show him how much he's actually learnt. Brienne's a tough teacher, he still thinks he's no good."

"Arya's right." Gendry agreed. "Pod's a good man, he'd be more than happy to help."

"No." Sansa shook her head and looked down. "Not Podrick."

Gendry raised an eyebrow at her reaction. "Why not?" He challenged. "He'd be perfect."

A slow blush started to raise in Sansa's cheeks and Arya's eyes widened. Arya jumped to her feet. "I'm going to get Podrick." She declared and ran out of the room before anybody could stop her.

"Oh gods." Sansa muttered and put her face in her hands.

Gendry picked up the training swords and handed one to Sansa. "No big deal if we're already training when he gets here, right?"

Sansa gave him a thankful look and took the offered wooden sword. "No big deal, we're just training." She agreed.

Gendry was impressed by how much Sansa had already learnt, her movements were limited by her dress, but if she did have to fight she would likely be in a dress anyway so it made sense that she wouldn't get changed into something else to train. Arya returned maybe ten minutes later with Podrick, and ten minutes after that a servant arrived with some food. The four of them spent the next hour training and talking.

It was early afternoon when Gendry sheepishly made his way to the forge, he was never going to get Arya's new sword finished at this rate.

"Tough life being married to a lady." Rodrik greeted him with amusement.

"You have no idea." Gendry replied.

"How is she?" Rodrik asked with a little more seriousness.

"Not as good as she's pretending to be." Gendry answered with a sigh.

"Fever dreams again?"

Gendry nodded. "Half the night."

"And the other half?" Rodrik asked with a raised eyebrow.

Gendry blushed. "Wasn't spent sleeping."

Rodrik laughed. Gendry ignored him and checked the stew pot before pulling the unfinished blade from its hiding place. He unwrapped it carefully, he still wasn't certain that he was happy with it but he had already built and then melted down two blades. He was using a mix of castle forged steel and the Dragonglass/steel mix that he had used for the knife-blades. He still wanted to set some larger pieces of Dragonglass into it but he wasn't quite sure how. This blade had to be special, more than special, it had to be perfect. He was just deciding where to start when he heard someone clearing their throat behind him. He turned around to see Sam looking at him expectantly.

"Did somebody forget their reading lesson?" Sam asked good naturedly.

Gendry groaned. "I'm never going to get Arya's sword finished." He muttered.

"Oh, you'll like what we're reading today." Sam replied. "It's about how the Targaryen's used dragon glass in their weapons."

Gendry thought for a minute. "That actually might be helpful." He re-wrapped the unfinished blade. "Mind if I bring this with me?"

Sam smiled. "I'm as curious about that blade as anyone." He replied. "Just don't tell Lady Arya that I got to see it first."

Gendry laughed. "You're scared of her too."

"Well… I'm not stupid." Sam replied. "May look it, but I'm not."

Gendry shook his head. "You don't look stupid." He picked up the blade and smiled. "I can't make any promises about not telling Arya you saw it first though, especially if you help me make it better."

~~/~~


	24. Part 24

Part 24:

The days were still short. Jon thought back to the first time that he had watched the sun rise, he was a winter child so the first few years of his life had been lived in darkness. He remembered how different the world had looked the first time that he had seen it not lit by torchlight. Rob had been scared, he didn't want to go outside and look around, but to Jon the sun had meant freedom and temporary escapes from the hatred of Caitlyn Stark. It was with a sense of loss that Jon remembered how young and hopeful he had been at the end of last winter.

Sansa had been one when spring had arrived. Arya was born about nine months after the first spring sunrise and many suspected that Ned Starks first Summer child had been conceived on the first day of spring. The bells may have rung all day for the birth of Sansa, but there were feasts for a week to celebrate Arya's birth. Another year or so had brought Bran and then a couple of more years had brought Rickon. By then all of Jon's hopefulness had been berated out of him and only Arya could truly make him smile.

He stood on one of the balconies and watched Arya training a handful of people in the courtyard below, but his mid drifted back to that first winter, before he had known the feel of the sun on his face. He remembered how much he had hated the cold, despite the fires, he had quickly learnt that it did no good to complain. But not complaining had meant that nobody had realised he was getting very sick unto the fever had fully taken hold. Caitlyn had been yelling at him for not listening when he had collapsed, she had thought that he was acting up and struck him, it was only when her open hand had connected hard against his cheek that she had realised that something was truly wrong.

Her guilt had forced her to sit by his bedside. He had wished that she would go away and let him die, but instead she prayed to the Seven and bargained with them for his life. She pleaded and prayed, she vowed that if the stranger would let him go she would beg Ned to have him legitimised and named a Stark. Those words made him want to fight, to live, and somehow he managed to get better. But she never kept her vow, and he learnt never to trust a promise from her again. He absently wondered how many times he had looked at her with accusing eyes after that.

His had moved to his pocked, the felt pouch with the lock of his mother's hair somehow reassuring. He had wanted so badly for Caitlyn Stark to accept him and be a mother to him. Rob had tried his best to make up for it, and Arya once she had become old enough to understand, but nothing can truly take the place of a mother's love. He reminded himself that Daenerys had been robbed of a mother as well, he hoped their daughter would be luckier.

Jon and Daenerys had avoided each other since the confrontation in Arya's room, all of the excuses were legitimate, but they were still excuses. He wanted to fix it, but he didn't even understand how things had broken. His mind drifted back to that night on the boat. It had taken all of his courage and more to knock on Daenerys's door. He had only ever been with one other, Ygritte, and it had taken a lot to convince himself that he wasn't betraying the red-headed Wildlings memory.

 _"I am yours, and you are mine."_

But he had never been hers, not really. He had been a man of the Watch doing what had to be done. He had loved her, but love isn't enough to change a man, duty would always come first to him. The path had always seemed so clear, defeat the Night King. He hadn't been able to see beyond that because he hadn't expected to live beyond that. Now there were too many paths and none of them were straight. He had never truly been Ygritte's, but he had loved her, had he ever truly been Daenerys'? What did he know of love anyway?

 _"You know nothing, Jon Snow."_

The more Jon watched Arya and Gendry, the more he believed Ygritte was right. Jon lent against the balcony railing and watched Arya, it was at least her third training session of the day. She was a good teacher and her students loved her. It wasn't just the villages that had followed her whom were steeping up to train with her either.

At other times she would get challenged to sparing sessions by Wildlings, Dornish men, and even Dothraki. Her dagger still hadn't been found, although Jon had people looking, and she refused to carry a sword until Gendry had finished making her new one, so she accepted these challenges armed only with a wooden practice sword and a smile. Sometimes Jon wondered which weapon was more deadly?

Jon had to admit that he was very proud of the young women that Arya had become, there was a darkness to her, but she had been through a lot over the last few years, and he knew she was keeping the worst of it from him. Often there would be a comment from either her or Gendry that would draw them into some dark memory, they would share a look and then both go silent. Jon hated that he hadn't been there to protect her, he feared he wouldn't be there to protect his daughter either.

 _His daughter_ , those two words alone filled him with fear and hope. Would Daenerys even allow him to be part of his daughter's life? Would his daughter be more like Arya or more like Sansa? Would she want to learn to fight, would he let her if she did? What would he name her? Would he even have a choice? ... Would she have the wolf-blood, or ride a dragon, or both? Would she hate him? Would she be sadistic and spoilt like Joffrey?

Jon was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice Arya dismiss her students and quietly make her way up the stairs to the balcony. He jumped when Arya cleared her throat from a few steps away. Arya took a step closer, a look of concern on her face. "What's wrong?" She asked quietly.

Jon shook his head. "Just thinking."

Arya wasn't about to accept that as an answer. "About?" She asked.

He gave her a defeated look. "My daughter." He replied.

Arya nodded. "You still haven't talked to her. You sit beside her every night and you still haven't talked to her." Her tone was sympathetic, not accusing.

Jon looked down and then looked back at Arya. "I don't know what to say." He replied.

Arya looked thoughtful. "What do you want?"

Jon shook his head. "I don't know. I mean, I know I want to be a part of my daughter's life, I know I want her to know that she is wanted. I know I'm terrified that I won't be able to protect her…"

"Then tell Daenerys that." Arya replied gently.

"How?" Jon asked dejectedly.

Arya shook her head. "I'll have to think on that." She replied thoughtfully. "You're not alone, Jon, we're a family, we'll make sure your daughter is part of that family." She pulled him into a hug.

Jon held her tightly. "Thank you." He whispered.

Arya pulled back and chuckled. "I wonder if you will still be saying thank you when I'm training her how to fight?"

Jon rewarded Arya with a small smile. "Let's win this war first, then we'll talk about if I'm letting you train my daughter."

Arya let out a full blown laugh. "Grandfather didn't let Lyanna train with a sword but she still learnt how to use one." She replied cheekily.

Jon pulled a face. "How about if my daughter's born with the wolf-blood you raise her?" he asked jokingly.

Arya rolled her eyes. "Oh, Daenerys would love that?" She replied.

"Love what?" Daenerys replied from behind them.

Jon spun around to see Daenerys and Tyrion who had just rounded the corner behind them. His mind raced for an answer but Arya beat him to it.

"We were just talking about how if your daughter is born with the wolf-blood I should raise her." Arya replied calmly.

"Oh really?" Daenerys replied.

Arya nodded. "Seems Jon is already fiercely, protective of your child, which is why it's so silly that he doesn't know how to talk to you about it." Arya's gaze moved to Tyrion. "On that note, I think Tyrion and I suddenly need to be somewhere that's not here."

"Not subtle," Tyrion muttered. "But I'll appreciate the purity of the ambush and take that as my cue to walk away."

Arya and Tyrion both started walking off in different directions leaving Jon with Daenerys looking at him expectantly.

"So," Jon said nervously. "I guess we need to talk." Daenerys nodded.

Arya paused on the stairs. "One more thing. Ygritte is dead, they were the Wildling equivalent of married, Jon had to watch her die, and he doesn't know he calls her name out in his sleep. Stop being angry at him for it, it's not like you don't call out Drogo's name in your sleep."

"Arya." Jon muttered.

"What?" Arya shrugged. "You asked for help from somebody who gets visions. Tell her about Ygritte, get her to tell you about Drogo. You wanted to know how to start the conversation, start there."

~~/~~


	25. Part 25

Part 25:

Ned Umber always felt like he was out of place in the great hall. He was well aware that he was a boy in a man's world. At only ten namedays he was the last of his house, he had failed to defend Last Hearth, his family home, and lost most of his people. He felt like a failure. He followed Lady Mormont's advice and made sure that he was always one of the first to the hall and always stood where he could be seen, but it didn't change how he felt. Lady Mormont had been kind to him, she only had twelve namedays under her belt herself but she was a strong leader and he had come to admire her.

He suspected that the reason she often went out of her way to make time for him was because she understood what it was like to suddenly be forced into a leadership position at such a young age. Unlike him however, Lyanna Mormont was born to lead. She was stern and fierce, if she had any insecurities she kept them to herself.

He entered the great hall and found that he had arrived before her for once, it had started to become something of a competition, however the sense of victory was suddenly lessened when he saw that she was talking with Lady Arya Stark as she entered. He hadn't beaten her, she had been delayed. He watched Lyanna in awe as she walked beside a member of house Stark and was treated like an equal.

Lady Arya was a legend in her own right, and a Stark of the line of the Kings of Winter. There was more power in her than she knew. Ned Umber remembered when his ragged group of thirty men had found her army of cooks and lumberjacks. He had been such a fool, he had looked down on the people that Lady Arya had surrounded herself with, had even looked down on the men from Bear Island, but every one of them had fought bravely. He had watched her inspire them and realised that he could only dream of being such a leader.

He had lost more men, as had she, but he had seen wonders. She had stood within reach of a White Walker and howled in their face, she had called an army of direwolves and lead them to a sanctuary of the old gods, a place clearly hidden by magic. By the time they had reached the Weirwood he only had 19 men left, he had a bad wound but nothing was more wounded than his pride. He remembered with shame how poorly he had reacted when she had tended his injury, an act of bravado from a frightened little boy, yet she had taken no offence. 19 had dwindled to 12 by the time the battle at Winterfell was done.

He was the leader of a dead house, who's keep had fallen, he'd failed all that depended on him, yet for some reason those 12 men remained true and he was determined not to let them down. Despite his feelings of insignificance and unworthiness he squared his shoulders and reminded himself who he was. Ned Umber, first of his name, last of the house of Umber. He gave a nod of respect in the direction of both ladies. They seemed deep in conversation yet both ladies paused to acknowledge him before taking their places. It was a courtesy greater than he deserved, and one that he was very thankful for, most of the lords simply ignored him. Again Ned Umber wondered why he was here and what he really had to offer, but he had nowhere else to go.

The meeting started off as so many before it had done, with minor business and grumbling from some of the Lords, then the conversation turned more serious, the conversation moving towards Cersei and the Iron Throne. Ned could do nothing but listen and watch helplessly, even if he pledged every last one of his 12 swords, and himself, it would make no difference. His gaze moved from Lord Snow to Queen Daenerys and he suddenly had a feeling that something bad was about to happen. Daenerys's features were guarded, like she was bracing herself for something. Slowly she stood, forcing the whole room to go quiet, her eyes fixed on Lyanna Mormont.

"Lady Mormont, come forward."

Lady Mormont stiffened, as if bracing herself, then slowly approached. "Yes, your grace." She replied.

"Do you remember the conversation that we had the first day we met?" Daenerys asked. Lyanna nodded. "Jorah Mormont has fought bravely against the armies of the dead and the Night King, he has past his trial by combat. Will you keep your word?"

Jon Snow suddenly rose to his feet. "Lady Mormont has proven herself as a strong leader, I ask you not to do this."

Ned didn't understand what was going on but he knew this wasn't good. Daenerys turned to reproach Jon but Lyanna spoke first. "Lord Snow, you choose Daenerys Targaryen as our queen, you bent the knee, you convinced me that my cousin, Jorah, deserved another chance. You convinced me that he was a good fighter and a good man. Are you now saying that you were wrong?"

Lord Snow looked from Lyanna to his Queen. "No," he answered slowly. "I am not saying that I was wrong, Bear Island has held faith with House Stark for over a thousand years, when our home was in ruins, and occupied by a traitor, you were the first to raise your banner in our defence, you are a strong leader and your men respect you. I believe our Queen has good intent, but I believe that if she knew you better she would realise, as I do, what an asset you are."

"Jorah is also of House Mormont." Daenerys replied. "And he is proven in battle. I am sure Lyanna Mormont is capable, but this is war, Jon." Daenerys turned to Lyanna. "You are brave, Lady Mormont, but you are young. When we go to war for the Iron throne I need to know that the men of Bear Island are being led into battle by the best leader possible. It is time for you to forgive your cousin and hand the leadership of Bear Island to him."

The room was filled with gasps and cries of outrage, Lyanna Mormont however, apparently had already known this was coming. Ned's gaze moved to Lady Arya, but she was as unreadable as ever.

It was Lyanna that silenced the hall. "Enough! I want what is best for my people, and I will do whatever I must to meet their needs." She returned her gaze to Queen Daenerys. "You ask me to step down as the leader of Bear Island, that my cousin may lead our people into battle, then I will no longer be the Lady of Bear Island." She turned to Jorah Mormont. "Bear Island is yours, every stick, every stone, every tree, I have but one request."

"And what is that, cousin?" Jorah asked carefully.

"That I may choose my own husband." She replied calmly.

Jorah nodded thoughtfully. "Of course, when the time comes -"

"I've already chosen, if he will have me." Lyanna cut him off. To Ned's surprise she then turned around and started walking towards him. "Lord Umber, you have an interesting challenge and a unique opportunity ahead of you. I would like to be a part of it. It will take a lot to rebuild Last Hearth, but do it right, and it will become your legacy."

Ned looked at her in shock. "Lady Mormont, my house is in ruins, I have nothing to offer you."

Lyanna gave him a gentle smile. "You must plough a field before you can sow seeds, do things right, show strong leadership, and you will be surprised who will follow you. Let me help you, let us learn and grow together. I believe in what you can accomplish and I want to be a part of it. I know I am not a great beauty, but what I lack in looks I make up for in practicality. We are not a rich house, I cannot offer you a great dowry, but I can offer you this."

Ned was still in shock but he found himself nodding. She would make a far better wife than he could ever have hoped to obtain. He tried to find the words to express that to her. "I do not think I could find a purer, or more honest, marriage proposal if I searched the seven kingdoms." He replied. "If you are sure that this is what you want then I would be a fool not to accept."

"And are you a fool, Lord Umber?" Lyanna asked.

He shook his head. "I do not believe so, I would be honoured to be betrothed to you, Lady Mormont." Was this really happening? Was the young bear really asking to be his betrothed?

"Good, then it is done." Daenerys stated.

"One last thing." Lyanna replied. "Now that I am officially a part of House Umber, I feel obliged to make a request on my future husband's behalf."

Daenerys' eyes narrowed . "And what is your request."

"One blacksmith, one mason, one builder, one cook and permission to head immediately to Last Hearth and start rebuilding our home, we have but 12 men, we cannot spare them."

Jon replied before Daenerys could. "I believe that is a very reasonable request, but I would ask that you wait till morning that more supplies may be gathered to send off with you. I would suggest you talk with Arya and look at taking a few skilled orphans with you, a couple of fletchers at least."

A few of the finer details were finalised and the meeting continued. Ned was still in shock at what had happened but, as Lyanna slipped into the space beside him, he was suddenly hopeful for the first time a long while. He didn't have to do it alone anymore, it was a relief to have Lyanna Mormont's support. The rest of the meeting was lost to him, he vaguely heard Jorah requesting to return to Bear Island and gather more men, he half listened as other Lords made plans or swore troops, but none of it mattered. He kept stealing sideways looks at Lyanna Mormont, the fourth time he did so she slipped her hand into his and gave it a gentle squeeze before pulling her hand back. Maybe his house wasn't doomed after all?

~~/~~

Jorah couldn't quite believe that he was finally going home. He stood near the bow of the ship and watched as Bear Island came into sight. All of his men had been rather quiet, but they would come around in time. As they came closer he noticed how quiet Bear Island looked, he had expected to see more people. He reminded himself that he couldn't really expect people to be waiting at the docks to greet him, most of the fishing boats seemed to be out and many of the women would be busy inside. It was late in the afternoon when the ship docked, but he was surprised to realise that he didn't see the smoke of many cooking fires. He dismissed the thought as they made their way to the Keep.

Home. He hadn't quite realised just how much he had missed it. There were less servants than he had expected, but then he had taken on more servants than he could truly afford trying to keep his ex-wife happy. A reasonable meal was put on and the wine was good. All of the men, his men now, had returned with him, and they ate and drank with him in the hall. As the wine flowed they started raising toasts to him as the Lord of Bear Island and he realised that they were coming around.

He drank too much, and when a rather pretty maid offered to show him to his bed chambers he made a pass at her. She laughed and grabbed some wine to take with them, he didn't complain. He must have drunk more than he thought, the maid undressed him but he was struggling to undress her. Groggily he stumbled towards the bed but landed in the floor. It was only as he was about to pass out that it occurred to him that he might have been drugged.

He woke up in an empty room, no bed, no furniture at all, no clothes. This must be some prank, it did fit with the Bear Island sense of humour. Naked, he walked from room to room, but every room was empty, even the curtains were gone. He had no weapons and no clothes. Amusement moved to anger, and then to fear as he searched the entire Keep. Everything was gone, very person was gone. He finally found the kitchens, a place he had never been, but they were empty as well. No food, no pots, no people.

Eventually desperation drew him outside. Every house was wide open and empty. Anything not nailed down was gone. Every boat, every fishing rod or net was gone. Even the bucket from the well had been taken. Eventually he reached the gate by the forest. A dead bear was tied to it, and across the sign of house Mormont the following words were written in the bear's blood. "Every stick, every stone, every tree is yours."

He realised with disappear that Lyanna Mormont had kept her word and nothing more.

~~/~~


	26. Part 26

Part 26:

Gendry ran his hand over the wrapped bundle and considered when and how to give Arya her sword, it had taken a lot of work but he was finally happy with it. He had strongly based the sword off of Dark Sister, a narrower long blade designed for a women. Many blacksmiths may have claimed to have based their swords off of Dark Sister but, thanks to Meera Reed, Gendry's statement was actually true. Sam had confirmed the name of the weapon that Meera had gained from the children of the forest.

Gendry had also taken some influence from Dawn, Ned Dayne seemed happy to let him study the weapon and he had mimicked the three shunts, making the blade lighter and easier to handle. Half of Winterfell had come to look when they had realised he had Dawn and Dark Sister sitting side by side on his work bench. Things had gotten even more interesting when Sam had laid Heartsbain on the table beside Dark Sister and Jon had placed Longclaw beside Dawn. It was a little crowded though with the four swords owners hovering and everybody else trying to get a look. It was Arya who had finally cleared the forge allowing him to actually work.

There was something about the four blades, some power, instinct had told him that the Baratheon stick should be there as well and Arya had gone to retrieve it. Maybe it was Gendry's imagination, but the Dragonglass steel seemed to melt differently with the other weapons present. The blade that Gendry had shown Sam had long been discarded. He'd considered offering it to Lady Mormont, but everything had happened so fast that there was no time.

The supper bell had gone over twenty minutes ago but still Gendry hesitated. Finally he picked up the wrapped blade and made his way to the Great Hall. The room feel silent as one by one people realised that the bundle in his hand must be Arya's new blade. Gendry walked up the middle of the hall, his eyes only on his wife, she was seated at the table to the left of the high table, where they often sat, the space beside her empty and waiting for him. She raised an eyebrow but said nothing as he wordlessly placed the bundle beside her and sat. He dished himself some dinner and started eating and she returned to her meal, the bundle untouched. The rest of the room was silent.

Gods he loved her! He knew she wanted to tear the bundle open, to look at her new blade, to abandon her supper and go to the training yard to see how it felt in her hand. He also knew that if she did he would follow her, as would many others, and supper would be cold before he got to eat. She had changed so much from the impatient, angry, little girl that had driven him insane and made him want to protect her at the same time. He knew that much of her newfound patience was from her time with the Faceless men, that it was linked to her pain and her darkness, but he still admired her for it. The fact that everybody else was going insane that she wasn't revealing the blade didn't hurt either.

Gendry kept eating and Arya slurped her ale more loudly than she needed to. It was Jon who finally broke.

"Oh, for god's sake!"

Arya gave him the sweetest, most innocent look. "Is something wrong, Jon?"

Jon just looked at her and shook his head. "No, what could possibly be wrong, Arya? We've waited for weeks and weeks to see the sword that Gendry made you, it's sitting right there and you won't open it… and it's driving everyone insane, but what could possibly be wrong?"

Arya gave him an overly sweet smile. "I'm glad that nothing's wrong." She replied and returned to her meal.

Sander Clegane burst out laughing and Sansa started to giggle. Brienne smirked, nudged Podrick, and went back to eating. Tyrion muttered something about never actually having heard Sansa giggle before and picked up his wine. Soon the normal noise and clamour of supper time had returned. It was only as Gendry reached for seconds that Arya thoughtfully lifted the edge of the fabric. "Maybe I should open it?" She muttered, as if in contemplation. The room suddenly fell silent again.

Gendry took pity on the rest of the room, truth be told, he didn't quite understand why they were all so fascinated. He stood up slowly and stepped away from the table, picking up the bundle with him. Arya stood up as well and turned to face him. He unwrapped the blade and placed it, sheath and all, into her hands.

Arya pulled the blade slowly, the torchlight playing off of the two-toned metal, the Dragonglass catching the light like dark stars. This was true dragon-steel, not Valyrian steel but steel wrought with Dragonglass, and a little magic. His studies with Sam had given him enough clues to know what spells to use, secrets taught by Tohbo Mott, secrets he wasn't ready to share with Rodrick. The handle was a single piece of carved Dragonglass. Arya inspected the blade then held it high for everyone to see. She stepped further into the room and gave it a few careful swings, after all, there was no need for anybody to lose an ear. She then re-sheathed the blade and silently returned to her dinner.

Gendry found that he was the one lacking patience now. Did she like it? Did she hate it? Was she disappointed? The evening seemed to drag on for an eternity. Arya switched from ale to wine and Gendry was sure that she was swirling the wine in her cup more than drinking it. Eventually they returned to their quarters. The moment the door was closed Arya drew the blade and started getting a real feel for it, the smile slowly growing on her face. Gendry stayed well back and watched her move.

"The balance is perfect." She muttered. "And the grip… it's a little heavier than I'm used to but that's good." She went through some steps of her water dancing. "It's not too heavy." She transitioned the blade from her left hand to her right hand, did a few thrusts and parries then transferred it back. "It works well in the off had too."

"So you like it?" Gendry muttered.

"Her." Arya corrected. "The blade is a her."

Gendry smirked. "Oh, is it now?"

Arya rolled her eyes. "Are you really going to tell me that the Baratheon stick isn't a him?"

"No." Gendry replied quietly. "So do you know her name yet?"

A slow smile spread over Arya's lips. "Stormbringer."

Gendry swallowed thickly. "Shall we just tell Daenerys who my father is and ask her not to feed me to her dragon?" He replied.

"Rhaegal wouldn't hurt you." Arya replied. "She's not bonded to him and you're a Blackfyre and a Baratheon, you have more Valyrian blood than she does, you could claim Rhaegal and become his rider any time you wanted."

Gendry just looked at Arya in shock. "I'm not a Blackfyre."

Arya rolled her eyes. "Go stand in front of the Golden Company, and sing that nursery rhyme your mother used to sing you, and see if they agree." She replied.

Gendry wasn't sure what he was more in shock about, the fact that Arya believed he was a Blackfyre of the fact that she thought he could be a dragon rider… or the fact that she was usually right about these things?

She gave him an amused look and sheathed her sword, humming as she made her way to the bedroom. As he followed her he suddenly realised that she was humming the rhyme his mother always used to sing.

 _Red and black, and black and red, the fire's all the same._

 _Red and black, and silver and gold, what difference is a name?_

 _Waters flow, and rivers run, and grass grows still the same,_

 _But rivers turn to bitter steel when waters turn to flame._

"Okay," He replied frowning. "Where is the blade Blackfyre then?"

"Ask Tohbo Mott." Arya replied cryptically. His jaw dropped at what her reply insinuated, before he could question her more she silenced him with a kiss. "Conversation over," she muttered as they came up for air. "You have another sword to give me." She kissed him again and led him towards their bed.

~~/~~


	27. Part 27

Part 27:

Meera watched Bran as he made his way to the gods wood again. Something wasn't right. She scoffed at herself, nothing had been right for a long time. It's not over, she corrected herself. She wasn't like Jojen, she didn't have fits and visions, but she was a Reed. Reed's know the flow of the current, the taste of the air… Reed's know the feel of things. And things did not feel over.

Bran stopped and rubbed at his arm, it was the arm that the Night King had touched in his dream and it had brought him pain ever since. She wanted to run over there, to cut away his sleeve and check his skin, to make sure that he wasn't changing into something other, but she couldn't. She kept a shard of Dragonglass on her at all times, she didn't know if she would have to plunge it into his heart to save him or kill him with it, but she would do her duty either way.

She scoffed at herself again. Duty? Was that why she watched him? She had given up everything for him before she had even met him, Jojen had been so sure… she understood now that Jojen had known the cost of helping Bran get to the children of the forest, that he had known and accepted his death. But had it really been worth it? What had they really achieved? In some ways it all felt like some terrible trick.

The sick joke of it was that she cared for Bran. Not as a banner man cares for their liege lord but as a woman care's for a man. He held no interest in her, he had made that very clear, maybe having lost the use of his lower body at such young an age meant he would never have any interest in any woman? She didn't know, she wasn't much of a woman anyway with her flat chest. She felt stupid and it made her angry, and being angry made her feel stupid. She had walked away from it all with one of the most desired blades in all of Westeros, a dead brother, and a foolishly broken heart. She sighed and pushed herself to her feet. No point in moping, she may as well go give some stupid men a lesson in how to use a bow.

Later in the evening Meera found herself standing outside of Bran's door. She took a deep breath and raised her hand to knock.

"Come in, Meera."Bran called out before her hand even made contact with the wood.

She opened the door slowly and walked in. The room was dim, the only light coming from the low fire. Bran was sitting in his chair watching the flames. He didn't look up at her as she walked across the room and neither of them spoke. As she approached him he rolled up his sleeve, he knew why she was there.

The skin didn't look any different to how it should, she wanted him to look at her, to say something, but he just kept looking at the flames. Hesitantly she ran her hand along the skin, it felt cool, but not cold. She drew the shard of Dragonglass out of her pocket and pressed it against his skin. He cried out quietly in pain and jerked his arm away, the Dragonglass falling to the floor.

"Now you know why I tried to make you leave." He said quietly, still not meeting her gaze.

"It's not over, is it?" Meera asked.

He shook his head and his careful mask seemed to shatter, sadness and fear showing in his face. "No." He whispered.

"You have to tell them, you have to warn them." She hissed.

"How can I?" He asked, finally looking at her, he blinked and a tear ran down his cheek. "It will be years before it matters, why take their happiness?"

With shook Meera realised that the emotionless façade had been just an act to protect the people that he loved. "What about you? What's happening to you?"

"I can control it." He replied. "I can feel it, but I can control it."

"For how long?" She asked.

Bran shrugged. "Twenty, thirty years maybe, maybe longer?"

"And if you're wrong?"

"You'll stop me. You won't let it be Arya's burden, I know that." He looked down at his hands. "I didn't want it to be you, I tried to set you free." He whispered. "I tried to make you think I didn't need you. I'm sorry." Tears started streaming down his face. "I tried to set you free."

She knelt down in front of him. "I swear by earth and water, by bronze and iron, by ice and fire, that I will be here, to help you or to stop you." She felt a tear spill down her own cheek.

He reached out and traced the path of her tear down her cheek. "Why?" He asked. "You've already lost so much because of me… Jojen…"

"Jojen knew where his path was leading, he accepted it because he believed in you." She felt another tear spill down her cheek.

He brushed the tear away then pulled his hand back. He shook his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. "You should go." He said quietly. "you should leave Winterfell and get as far away from me as possible."

No! She wasn't accepting that! They'd just established that he needed her, she wasn't going to let him just send her away. "Why?" She challenged.

He was looking at the fire again. "Because if you don't I might just tell you I'm in love with you." He answered softly.

"Tell me then." She replied. He looked at her and studied her for a moment or two, she held his gaze, daring him to take back the words.

"I'm in love with you." He said quietly. "I've been in love with you for years."

"Good," She replied. "I'd hate to think it was one-sided."

He looked at her in shock, it was nice to know that there were things that the three-eyed raven didn't know. Hesitantly he reached his hand out to touch her cheek. In some ways he was still the young boy that she remembered. She waited, kneeling in front of him, and let him decide what happened next. He lent forward cautiously and brushed the lightest of kisses against her lips. She reached out her hand and brushed some of the tears off of his cheek. The action seemed to make him bolder, he pulled her up and into his lap and hugged her tightly, his head burying into her shoulder.

They sat like that for a while then Meera pulled away to stoke up the fire, as she moved off of his lap she realised with a surprise that her presence had stirred a reaction in his lower body. Bran noticed her awareness of his arousal and blushed.

"I'm not completely broken from the waist down, that still works." He muttered.

"Good to know." Meera replied. She stoked up the fire then settled back into his lap with her head on his shoulder. She didn't realise that she was drifting off to sleep until she became unbalanced and fell to the ground, landing flat on her back.

"Meera!"

She laughed, what else was there to do? "Well that's not the best place to sleep." She muttered, pushing herself into a sitting position. "I think I better go find my own bed."

Bran nodded. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Meera shook her head. "No, you'll see me today, it's past late, it's early now."

Barn gave her a small smile and nodded. "I'll see you today then." He replied.

~~/~~


	28. Part 28

Part 28:

Jon watched his sisters as they both sat on the floor of the living area of Arya's rooms sorting through papers. They had taken on the impossible task of sorting through grandfather's office five days ago and he had hardly seen anything of either of them since, partly because he had been avoiding them. Guilt over what Daenerys had done to Lyanna Mormont, over how little he had done to stop it, made it hard to look Sansa or Arya in the eye.

What made it worse was that neither one had raised the subject, Sansa had buried herself in the allotment of food and seeds, the planning of the fields and the placement of all of the displaced non-combatants at Winterfell. Arya's focus had remained on finding futures for the many orphaned and displaced children, she had wound down her training sessions now that her student's had enough basic skills, they were still her water dancers, but they were being trained in the style of fighting common to Westeros now.

To make things worse the Northern Lords were in an uproar over Daenerys reinstating Jorah as the head of House Mormont. Jon needed his sisters' help more than ever, yet Sansa and Arya had quietly slipped into the background and left him to deal with it. Even Ser Davos seemed to have taken a step back, Jon was sure that the older man was disappointed in him, but Davos was too soft spoken to say his piece on the matter.

Jon had considered going to Bran to ask if he could see how Lyanna and Ned Umber were doing, and in hopes of having someone to talk about it with, but every time he sort Bran out at the Weirwood tree he would see the lean figure of Meera Reed keeping Bran company and instantly feel like an intruder. The first time Jon had seen Meera there it had truly caught him by surprise, not so much that she was talking with Bran, but that Bran was actually laughing.

"You know nothing, Jon Snow." He had whispered to himself, repeating Ygritte's words. He knew that he was missing the bigger picture. He'd studied Bran and Meera for a few seconds, trying to work out why he felt like an intruder. Yes, there was a bond there, shared experiences, shared loss, but was there something more? With that thought in his head he had turned on his heels and left them be.

He had turned to the forge and Gendry, there was still a stool for him there, but the place was always full. Gendry and Rodrick seemed to know every one of the children there by name, and the skills they were teaching them would last a life time. With reluctance he had accepted that he would gain no peace there, at least not on this matter, and eventually sheathed his hesitation to seek out Arya and Sansa.

He didn't know what he had expected when he had knocked on Arya's door, but certainly not this. Sansa and Arya seemed engrossed in the task at hand and had hardly acknowledged his presence. He had braced himself, preparing for the expected tirade, form one of them at least, but it had never happened. He had been sitting here, watching them for nearly twenty minutes now, yet neither one had given him more than a couple of words. What was he missing? "You know nothing, Jon Snow." He whispered to himself. He didn't actually realise that he had said it allowed until Sansa replied.

"That's true." She muttered and continued sorting through papers.

Jon let out a deep breath. "Okay, that's enough, why isn't one of you yelling at me?"

Arya carefully bookmarked the diary that she had been reading and set it down. "Why would we be yelling at you?" She asked calmly.

"Lyanna." Jon answered in exasperation. He put his head in his hands.

Sansa sighed. "Is that what you wanted to talk about? I thought you'd finally realised that Bran's in love with Meera."

"H-he's what?" Jon stuttered.

"Nope, he hadn't realised that." Arya replied.

Jon shook his head in frustration. "Look, even if he is, we have bigger problems here. The Northern lords are having a fit about Daenerys reinstating Jorah as the Lord of Bear Island, Lyanna deserved better than that, what Daenerys did is not okay…"

"Why didn't you stop her then?" Sansa asked.

Jon gave her a helpless look. "I couldn't."

"Yes you could have," Arya replied. "You are the trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and the true heir to the Iron throne, or we could always stake Gendry's claim as King Robert's bastard if putting somebody else's neck on the chopping block would make you feel more comfortable? You could have stopped her, you could have brought the truth to light, but you chose not to."

"And what about my daughter?" Jon asked.

"They choose you Jon, you weren't made the King of the North by birth right, having Stark blood helped, but you are not a Stark. You will always be my brother, and I love you, but you are not a Stark. They chose to make you their leader, their King, that's why Gendry choose to follow you beyond the wall!" It was almost a relief for Jon to hear the anger creeping into Arya's voice, almost, her anger seemed tinged by a deep sadness and it made him wonder if this was the first time Gendry had chosen to follow an elected leader or if there was another reason for the pain in Arya's words.

"I never asked them to choose me." He muttered.

"You may not have asked them, but they choose you, and you betrayed them. You bent the knee, lowered your rank from King to Warden, took a moment of comfort and created a child, and now we are all at her mercy for as long as that child remains in her womb. Your choices, Jon. You failed the North, you failed Gendry, you failed Lyanna Mormont, and only you can fix it."

Jon put his head in his hands. "I don't know how." He whispered.

"Yes you do." Sansa replied sadly. "But you've already made your choice, so what's the point in either of us arguing with you?"

"What do you want me to do, Sansa?! You want me to overturn her decision and give Bear Island back to Lyanna?"

Sansa shook her head. "No, it's too late for that now, what's done is done. But stop hiding behind excuses, Jon, be the leader we know you can be! Be our King!"

"I never wanted to be King." Jon muttered.

"Then admit who you are and what you want, renounce the throne if that's what you really want, but be honest!" Arya replied. "Look where lies have gotten us, look where they got Father, be honest. Be honest about what you want, and about what you're willing to sacrifice to get it. There is no point regretting the past, learn from it and move on!" Arya was standing now, her hands shaking with rage, tears brimming in her eyes, this was what he had been expecting a week ago.

"I don't know what I want!" He yelled back. "I don't know!"

"Well I know what I want! I want the world to know that you're not unwanted or a mistake!" Arya yelled back. "I want them to know that you had a mother who loved you! And I want to know that you love your daughter enough to make whatever happens in the next few months not be her burden to bare! If she's your excuse, then your choices are her fault! If you truly love her then you have to risk losing her to set her free! Don't force her to be another Lyanna!"

Jon was stunned by Arya's words, was that what he was doing? Letting his fear of losing his daughter become his reason for inaction? He looked from Arya to Sansa, but it seemed his sisters were in agreement. He took a deep breath and let it out. "I think I can count the times you two have truly agreed on one hand," He muttered. "If you agree on this then you must be right. I suppose you have a plan?"

Sansa looked at him carefully. "Are you ready to let the North know your name is Aegon?"

"Only if you both keep calling me Jon." He replied.

Sansa hugged him. "You'll always be Jon to me, Aegon, but you are also Aegon, I will always love you like a brother, but you are my cousin and that needs to be recognised. Now call a meeting, and go get the letter that Father wrote you when he was at Starfall."

"And make sure the Khal's and the leaders of the unsullied are there too." Arya added. "The great hall won't be big enough, we'll have to clear one of the courtyards."

Jon nodded and left to do as they had asked. Were his sisters angry at him? Yes. Had they abandoned him? No. Was he going to like the plan? Probably not, but they were right. He'd made this mess and now he had to fix it, even if that meant losing his daughter.

~~/~~


	29. Part 29

Part 29:

Sam looked around nervously at the gathering leaders. He clutched the Journal of Grand Maester Maynard tightly under his arm and watched as Sansa and Arya set letters and books up on the table in the middle of the courtyard. He was just thankful that he had convinced Gilly to keep herself and little Sam away.

"This is going to get messy." Gendry muttered, walking past him and dumping some overstuffed bags by the table. Gendry quickly took the place to his right.

"Yip." Sam agreed. "I don't see a way this can go well."

Ned Dayne quickly took the space to the left of Sam, all three watching in silence as Jon put the letter from Ned Stark on the table and placed the felt pouch with the lock of hair on top of it. Jon quickly stepped back and Tormund Giantsbaine stepped in beside him. The Dothraki Khal's arrived soon after. After about ten more minutes every person who could be deemed a leader had arrived. Everyone apart from Daenerys and Tyrion, that is. Apparently her grace didn't like being summoned. Sam was sure that she was taking her time to make a point, but he wasn't sure it would work in her favour.

Finally Daenerys arrived, a concerned looking Tyrion beside her. "What is all this then?" She asked.

"Honesty." Sansa replied. "This is every letter, every note, every diary, every raven that has even a sentence relating to the events of Robert's rebellion. Everything on this table was written by, or too, a Stark. There have been a lot of lies and half-truths, if we're going to work together and make Westeros strong again, that has to stop. We need to talk this out today and get to the bottom of this, starting with clearing your brother's name and abolishing the lie that Lyanna Stark was taken by force."

Sam noticed that Sansa didn't use a single title as she addressed Daenerys. He watched as Arya stepped forward.

"Or we could start with the fact that the child in your belly is Jon's."

Yohn Royce stepped forward and pointed to the bags on the ground. "Or we could start with the fact that you had Jorah murder Varys for being a Blackfyre and then rewarded him by giving him Bear Island."

Sam took a deep breath. "Or we could start with the fact that Rhaegar had his marriage to Elia Martell annulled in the same secret ceremony that he married Lyanna Stark in."

Ned Dayne stepped forward. "Or we could start with the fact that Lyanna had a legitimate child to Rhaegar."

Gendry stepped forward. "Or that fact that she used her dying breath to beg her brother to protect that child from my father, Robert Baratheon."

Jon went to step forward but Howland Reed beat him to it. "A child who she named Aegon, but who was renamed Jon Snow to keep him safe."

Jon went to step forward again but Eddison Tollett was faster. "Jon Snow, 998th Lord commander of the watch."

Jon made a third attempt to step forward but this time Meera pushed Bran forward first. "Or the fact that Aegon Targaryen, seventh of his name, is the true heir to the Iron Throne." Bran said.

"And the elected King of the North, chosen for his leadership, not his blood lines." Meera added.

Jon went to step forward for a forth time but Tormund grabbed his shoulder and stopped him. Tormund stepped forward. "I don't care if his name's Jon or Aegon, he's a good leader and the wildlings respect him… even if he does have a tiny peacker."

"Thanks." Jon muttered in embarrassment as Tormund stepped back.

Sansa took that moment to step forward. "So, the question is, with overwhelming evidence that you are not the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, do you still stake a claim? Because if you do, Aegon and Gendry's claims must also be considered. Unless you plan to just have them murdered as you did with Varys?"

Yohn Royce stepped forward again. "What about the claim of Azor Ahai? The Blood Wolf… the Warg Queen?" He asked, gesturing towards Arya.

Tormund stepped forward again. "Actually, if she's leaving Winterfell, the Wildlings are interested in making her the Queen beyond the wall."

"Have you all forgotten that I am the mother of Dragons?" Daenerys yelled. "Rhaegal!"

"Good idea." Arya replied. "Let the dragon choose, there are plenty with Valyrian blood here, even Tyrion has a claim to stake. Although Aegon has been elected twice, and has the trust and respect of the Wildlings, and the best birth right claim."

Rhaegal flew overhead, responding to Daenerys's yell, the dragon circled once then landed in the middle of the circle.

"Dracarys!" Daenerys yelled.

Before she could complete the word however both Jon and Gendry had stepped forward and touched the dragon, they both stroked it gently, hushing and calming it. Tyrion hesitated for a moment then did the same.

"Dracarys!" Daenerys yelled again but the dragon ignored her, its attention on the three men, all with Valyrian blood in their veins, all hushing and calming it. "Dracarys!" Daenerys yelled a third time, desperation now in her voice.

"Seize her!" One of the Khal's yelled and a number of Dothraki came forward, grabbing her.

Rhaegal used its head to nudge first Jon, then Gendry, then Tyrion onto its back. The three men obeyed, all seemingly enthralled by the beast, and it rose up into the air and flew away.

Yohn Royce frowned. "Should we be worried about that?" He asked, gesturing towards Rhaegal flying off with the three men.

"No, she won't hurt them." Bran replied.

"She?" Sansa asked, and then she laughed. "Oh, Jon's not going to hear the end of that, the dragon named after his father is a she."

Lord Glover stepped forward. "So, it's all true then?"

Sansa gestured to the table. "It's all here, see for yourself."

"Well," Sam answered. "Some of it is here." He opened the book on the correct page and placed it on the table.

"What do we do with her?" Sander Clegane asked, pointing at the now crying Daenerys.

Arya sighed. "I'm going to need your help on this one, take her away from the Khal's and follow me."

Sam watched as Sander grabbed Daenerys away from the Khal's who had now turned on her for trying to burn them all alive and threw her over his shoulder. Daenerys kicked and screamed and yelled but he ignored it all and followed Arya. Arya signalled for two guards and Brienne to follow her as well.

~~/~~

Arya sighed as they entered Daenerys' room. It took nothing more than a nod for Brienne to cover the window, Arya had left the two guards outside the door. She sighed and looked at Sander. "Put her down, gently, she is five months pregnant."

Sander placed Daenerys gently on the bed. She looked at him for a moment then pushed herself to her feet, rushing at Arya. With a sigh he picked her back up again.

"You know, I'm really disappointed in you." Arya said quietly. "I know you've had it tough, and you've survived a lot, but you wanted the Iron Throne because you thought it was your right and you wanted vengeance. You have no care for the people. What happened to you? You were the mother of dragons, the freer of slaves, then suddenly you hit Westeros and decide to be a tyrant. You burn people alive for not bending the knee, then, when you discover that your don't have the most legitimate claim, you try to copy your father and burn them all?"

"I respected you for what you did in Meereen, you were supposed to be the one to break the wheel, and now you want to enslave us all? Do as you wish or be burnt? We don't like leaders who burn people. We showed your father that, we showed Stannis that, Jon was prepared to support your claim even after he knew the truth, but you've lost your way." She turned her attention to Sander. "Put her down again."

Sander put Daenerys down on the bed again, Daenerys again tried to attack Arya and Sander again picked her up. Arya sighed. "We're going to keep doing this until you're ready to talk. If Sander gets tired he'll just swap places with Brienne, I can do this for hours." She turned her attention to Sander again. "Put her down." And so the cycle continued.

Hours later Daenerys finally broke, once she started talking she couldn't stop. She talked about Essos, about Viserys, about joining the Dothraki and how scared she had been. She talked about losing her son, about her dragons, about all of the betrayals and obstacles that she had faced. She yelled, and screamed, and cried, she told Arya that she didn't understand. At some stage Sansa had come in she had sat quietly and listened.

Once Daenerys had finished Arya sighed. "My turn." She whispered. She talked about the death of the butcher boy and the events leading up to it, about Kings Landing, about having to kill the stable boy to escape. She talked about wandering the streets hungry and alone, about her father's death and how she couldn't sleep for months afterwards. She talked about pretending to be a boy, hiding amongst rapists and murders, and how Gendry had protected her. She talked about Harrenhal, about the brotherhood and about Gendry being sold to Melisandre.

She talked about being captured by Sander, and wanting to kill him, about how he had saved her from the Red wedding anyway. She talked about seeing Greywinds head attached to her brother's body and later about hearing a Frey man proudly declare that he had been the one to attach the head. About how she had stolen Sander's knife and killed him.

She talked about how Sander had helped her get Needle back, and how he had trained her to be a better killer. She talked about Essos and the faceless men, about being blinded and then being left as a beggar on the streets. She talked about the harshness of the training, about how they had tried to make her become no one, and about the attack from the wraith when she had tried to leave, about how the person who had tried to help her had been killed.

She talked about coming back to Westeros and taking revenge on the Freys… she left no detail out, eventually she ran out of words, and that was when Sansa started talking. Sansa was graphic about the abuse she had suffered, everything that Joffrey or Ramsey had done to her was descripted in detail. It turned out that Sansa's rapes were far more horrific than Daenerys', she even offered to show Daenerys the latticework of scars that Ramsey had left behind in the most intimate of places, she had actually started to disrobe before Daenerys begged her to stop.

To everybody's surprise Sander spoke next. "My turn." He whispered, and then he proceeded to tell them about the horrors he had suffered at the hands of his brother, about the servants who had disappeared. About the sister, who's face he could no longer remember, that was one day just suddenly gone, about his belief that his brother had killed his father. About the torment and ridicule he had received because of his scars, about being Joffrey's 'dog' at court. About the battle of Blackwater Bay and how he had finally snapped at the sight of the wildfire. About his regret at opening his mouth and telling the brotherhood who Arya was, and about how he had tried to make it right even though she hated him. When the room finally fell silent again eyes moved to Brianne.

"Oh, I'm just ugly." She said with a shrug.

"Tormund doesn't think you're ugly." Sander replied with a smirk.

"Yes, but Tormund is insane." Brienne replied calmly.

Sander laughed at that. "He still wants to make giant babies with you."

Sansa cleared her throat. "Perhaps we should focus on the bigger picture here? We're all agreed that Cersei has to be stopped, yes?" Everyone agreed. "And can we all agree that the current system needs some drastic changes?" Again everyone agreed. Sansa nodded. "One person with absolute power doesn't seem to work, yet a bunch of petty kings leads to constant war, we need to find a better way to work together."

"What about a council of kings and queens where one is elected for a set number of years to be the head of the council but is still answerable to the others?" Arya suggested. "And maybe every kingdom needs an elected representative from every other kingdom on their council? The king or queen could have a certain amount of power for day to day things, but larger things would need to go to the council and the council has the power to hold the king or queen accountable for their actions."

The three leaders sat down and began to discuss serious ideas about how to break the wheel and restructure things. Eventually Rhaegal returned with Jon, Gendry and Tyrion and they were brought into the conversation. The three men were quite surprised to find that the three women were actually getting along and had stated to make some progress.

~~/~~


	30. Part 30

Part 30:

"Podrick, you are an idiot." Pod muttered to himself. Why had he not worked it out sooner? All of the information was in front of him, had been in front of him since his conversation with Gendry near the crossroads. Gendry wasn't just a noble bastard, he was a _royal_ bastard, no wonder he had been so afraid of Daenerys knowing who his father was, no wonder his master had sold him to the Night's Watch when King Robert had died… Robert Baratheon was Gendry's father!

Podrick couldn't even begin to imagine how hard that must have been for Gendry, to be starving and struggling, to have nothing, and to discover that your father is the King… the very fat and wasteful King. Suddenly the pain of Gendry's words a few months ago made so much more sense. _"I'm a bastard, lowborn, it doesn't matter who my father was… my father never came to claim me even though we lived in the same city most of my life. I never even met him."_

For a fleeting moment Podrick had wondered if Arya had married Gendry because of who his father was, but he had quickly dismissed the thought. Arya was better than that, gods, she was incredible, not that she could see it. She didn't realise how beautiful she was, or how many people respected her, she was completely blind to the many people who would have been interested in being her suiters. She'd never noticed any of them, or if she had, she'd never encouraged them… she'd certainly never encouraged him.

Not that Podrick had ever been very good at letting a girl know how he felt about them. Arya had never taken any of his compliments too seriously, he had been working up the nerve to make his intentions clearer when he had been sent south with Brienne, but perhaps that was for the best? Watching Gendry and Arya together had only made it clear that he had never stood a chance. She only had eyes for Gendry. The worst part was that Gendry was good for Arya, she smiled more now, she even laughed at times.

Podrick was distracted from his melancholy by sounds of a disturbance near the main gate, likely another argument over legitimising Gendry and making him take the Iron Throne, or over making Jon step down and naming Sansa Queen of the North, or Arya. It was quite surprising how the lines had been drawn, the northerners were divided over Jon, the wildlings still supported him, but wanted Arya for their Queen, the Vale wanted Gendry on the Iron Throne and Sansa as Queen of the North, possibly with a marriage alliance that served their interests, the Unsullied still supported Daenerys but the Dothraki had turned on her.

Khal argued with Khal, and violently so, but the majority seemed to be agreeing with the wildlings. They would follow Jon or Arya, Daenerys had betrayed then when she tried to get the dragon to burn everyone, and nobody else was proven, some just wanted to go home. Ned Dayne and his Dornishmen were trying desperately to keep the peace and had not openly taken a side but everyone suspected they would follow Jon. But with all of this fighting would there even be an army left soon?

Suddenly the entire courtyard seemed to fall to a hush causing Podrick to look around, he realised that most people were looking up. He followed their gaze and saw Jon, Sansa, Arya and Gendry standing on one of the balconies. A minute later Daenerys and Tyrion walked out as well. There was something different about Daenerys' appearance but it took Podrick a moment to work out that she had removed her braids.

The six surveyed the courtyard, it was clear that things had fallen into disarray over the last few hours in their absence, it was Sansa who finally spoke.

"We have made some decisions," She said calmly, her gaze slowly swept the crowd. "Firstly, yes, Jon's mother named him Aegon, but he was raised as Jon. We have decided that whilst Aegon is his true name it will be treated as a title for now, Jon is the name he is most comfortable with."

The crowd broke out in whispers at this announcement, many had suspected that Jon would simply accept his Targaryen heritage and turn his back on the north. After a few minutes Jon cleared his throat.

"I know many of you want me to stake my claim on the Iron Throne. If I do so, and if I succeed, my first action will be to destroy it. Things need to change, one ruler does not work, even Aegon the conquer knew this, which is why he put so much in the hands of Visenya and Rhaenys."

Daenerys stepped forward. "It is time to break the wheel, we need to make a real change. I have made some mistakes since coming to Westeros, I can admit that, I hope that my Khal's are paying attention." To everybody's shock she drew her blade and slowly cut off her hair at the nape of her neck. She held out the bundle of hair to Jon. "It is a long time since I have tasted true defeat, I relinquish my claim to the Iron throne and admit that yours is stronger. You are Rhaegar's son and heir, you were chosen by the Night's Watch, you are respected by the Wildlings, and you were chosen as King of the North. You truly are a King."

"Daenerys…" Jon protested.

"Take it, this is the Dothraki way."

Jon nodded and took the offered hair. He turned back towards the courtyard. "The North belongs to the North, as such you cannot have a Targaryen in charge. I name Sansa Stark Queen of the North!" The crowd in the courtyard started cheering and applauding. Jon allowed the crowd a few minutes then continued to speak. "To the lords of the Stormlands, Gendry is the last of House Baratheon, do you agree that it is time he took the name?" More cheers and applause erupted at this comment.

Arya stepped forward on Jon's other side. "There are couple of other matters that need to be formalised. We must be united against our enemies, in the interest of this Jon and Daenerys will be married." The crowd grew quiet. "We must prepare for war to sue for peace, once Jon has won the Iron Throne things are going to change for the better, but we must be united. Ned Dayne, House Martell has all but fallen, perhaps it is time that Starfall was again the head of Dorne? Is this a matter that you would be willing to discuss?"

Ned Dayne stepped forward. "The Martell's have controlled Dorne since the time of Queen Nymeria, what could you offer that would make them want to change?"

"Partial Dornish independence." Jon replied.

Ned nodded. "That sounds like an interesting conversation."

~~/~~

Tyrion poured himself more wine and continued to sort through Varys' things, there was no argument that these bags belonged to Varys, and no argument that not everything in them was his by right. That didn't make it right though, how could Daenerys have allowed this?! Varys had been many things, but not an usurper! Varys had been his friend!

He angrily swiped away at the tears running down his face and pulled the hands sigil off of his chest, flinging it across the room. He emptied his wine glass and poured himself some more, his hands shaking in grief and rage. He pulled out another fine garment and put it in the clothing pile, he had no idea what he was going to do with the clothing, maybe Sansa would have use for the fabric? She was practical enough to make sure that it didn't go to waste.

He returned to the case and the sight of Dragonglass and rubies made him freeze for a moment, with shaking hands he pulled the Valyrian dagger. He turned the blade over in his hands, inspecting it. He had owned this blade once, but it didn't belong to him now, it belonged to Arya. He quickly wrapped it in a small piece of fabric and took another large gulp of wine before leaving the room and negotiating the passageways to Arya and Gendry's quarters.

When he knocked on the door it was Sansa who opened it. She looked him up and down for a moment then sighed. "You're drunk." She muttered as she stepped aside and let him enter.

"Not nearly as drunk as I would like to be, Lady Sansa, Varys would tell you that I was well on the way to drinking myself to death after killing my father… at least he would if Daenerys hadn't had him killed. It's funny, you know, Varys thought she was our best, last, chance to build a better world." He glanced around the room to see who his audience was. Arya, Gendry, Jon and Ser Davos were all in the room. He turned his gaze to Jon. "I guess I should have followed my own instincts, you were always interesting, your biggest weakness is that you're too damn honourable."

"I'll take that as a compliment." Jon said quietly.

Tyrion raised his chin and did his best to look the talker man directly in the eye. "It was meant as an insult."

Jon nodded. "I know, but I'll still take it as a compliment."

Tyrion nodded. "Of course you will, Ned Stark would have as well. Of course, I thought House Stark was a lost cause when I choose to follow Daenerys. You were at the Wall…" He turned to Arya. "The world thought you were dead…" He finally turned to Sansa. "And you, well, even I underestimated you, and for that I apologise."

Sansa shook her head. "I was still a very stupid girl when you knew me."

"No," Tyrion shook his head. "Not stupid, still a little naïve… but you were never stupid, Lady Sansa. You knew how to play the game though. You always said the right thing, no matter what Joffrey did to you, I respected you for that, and feared for you. If you could only teach Jon some of that political savvy…"

"No." Jon interrupted. "We are not going back to the way things were."

"True, but you will still need politics. You don't want to hear it, do you? You're doomed, Jon." Tyrion muttered. "Between your honour and Ser Davos' you'll never see the enemy coming, you need somebody more cunning at your side." He shook his head. "But that's not why I'm here. It would seem that Varys never completely walked away from his original profession of finding and re-homing misplaced items, Lady Arya, I believe this is yours." He held out the dagger.

Arya hesitated for a moment then stepped forward and took the dagger. "Thank you."

Tyrion nodded and took a step back. "Well," he muttered. "I'm sure I'm not welcome here, and I've more than said my piece, I'll leave you all too it." He glanced at Gendry. "Good luck, lad, everything I said for Jon goes double for you, but at least you have Lady Arya." With that he turned to leave.

"Why don't you stay?" Sansa replied. "I saw that dragon invite three people on its back, not two. Besides, I believe your right, Jon could benefit from the input of someone who sees the world a little differently."

"Well I do have a unique perspective from down here." Tyrion muttered.

Jon shook his head. "Dwarf jokes, really?"

Tyrion nodded. "I hope I at least taught you one thing on that long walk to the Wall, know what you are, wear it like armour and nobody can use it against you."

Jon nodded. "But I thought I was a bastard then."

"And you wore it well." Tyrion agreed. "But the time has come to change your suit. You are Aegon Targaryen, Son of Rhagaer, but you are also the blood of House Stark. Wear it boldly and the North will see that you are still the same person they choose. Play it right and being Rhagaer's son will strengthen their belief in you, and never hesitate to remind them that you are Lyanna's."

Tyrion let his gaze sweep the room and noticed that Arya was watching him thoughtfully. The large amounts of wine he had consumed made him bold. "You, I don't understand you at all. You can be so compassionate, especially with orphans, it's quite a conflict with how I'm told you dispatched of Petyr Baelish."

"You're not required to understand me." Arya replied. "You are not my advisor, but since you seem to believe that you understand Jon so well let's play a game."

"A game?" Tyrion asked. "Will there be wine?"

"There can be." Arya replied. She nodded towards Ser Davos and he quickly left the room.

"And what is this game called?" Tyrion asked.

Arya smiled. "It's called the game of faces."

Sansa shook her head. "I'm never playing that with you again, Jon, Gendry, let's leave them to it. Arya will have your answer by the time she's finished."

That comment caught Tyrion's attention. "Answer to what? If I may be so bold."

Jon paused. He glanced at the two women then returned his gaze to Tyrion. "Ser Davos has requested to step down from being my hand that he may assist Gendry and Arya in uniting the Stormlands. We were discussing the possibility of offering the role to you when you knocked."

Tyrion was very surprised. "Well the first disadvantage is that until very recently I was Daenerys hand, and the second is that I'm a Lannister, so people won't trust me. On the up side, it would look good to the Unsullied and the Dothraki. The real question is do you trust me?"

"Not completely, but I respect you." Jon replied.

Tyrion nodded. "Good answer." He returned his attention to Arya. "So this game of faces, how does it work?"

Arya watched as the others left the room, she turned to Tyrion and smiled. "Oh, this is very much your type of game. You mix truths and lies and try to work out when the other player is lying or telling the truth."

Tyrion laughed. "I've been playing this game all my life." He replied.

Arya nodded. "And what have you learnt more from? Peoples truths, or peoples lies?"

Tyrion smiled. "Peoples lies… now am I telling the truth?"

"Yes." Arya replied.

Tyrion's smile deepened. "So tell me, Arya, may I call you Arya? What do you want?"

"Does that actually work?" Arya asked. "You just ask people what they want and they just tell you how to manipulate them?"

The smile slipped from Tyrion's face. "You are a clever girl, aren't you? Yes, it works, people's favourite topic to talk about is themselves."

Arya nodded. "Interesting. And the familiarity thing, is that how you get people to trust you?"

"Well sometimes it backfires terribly, but it lets you know what you're dealing with."

Arya smiled. "And what do you want, Tyrion?"

"Right now? I want wine." Tyrion replied. As if on cue there was a knock on the door and a servant entered with wine and two glasses.

~~/~~


	31. Part 31

Part 31:

The wedding was a farce and everybody knew it. The day was a long and tedious act of politics with no escapes for Jon, it was worse even than Tyrion had warned him that it would be. They were married in the small Sept that had been built for Catelyn Stark and Jon spent the whole ceremony feeling haunted by the woman's restless spirit… She would have hated him even more if she had known who he really was. Jon followed the old gods, and as such he was relieved not to have to perform this lie in front of them.

"A noble wedding is not for the sake of those that are getting married." Tyrion had reminded him. "It is a spectacle for those whose loyalty you need."

Daenerys had been ridged and polite the entire time but the coldness between was worse than winter winds, when they had reached the part of the ceremony where they had to publicly kiss Jon had tried to make it as quick as possible. Daenerys had shocked him however, she had pulled him close and deepened the kiss. For just a moment Jon had felt a glimmer of hope, but as he had looked down at her in wonder the coldness had returned to her eyes and he had realised that the kiss was just for show.

Daenerys knew how to play the game perfectly and as the wedding feast stretched on Jon found himself nursing a cup of wine and simply watching as she interacted with the Khal's and Lords. He both wanted the feast to end and dreaded it's ending. He longed for his father, to be able to speak with him one more time and ask for advice. A small voice in his head reminded him sharply that Ned Stark was his uncle, not his father, the voice sounding remarkably like that of Catelyn Stark.

Suddenly the last conversation that he had with Theon came to mind. " _You don't have to choose, you are a Stark and a Greyjoy._ " He had told Theon, and he had believed it when he said it. The words hit home, he was a Stark _and_ a Targaryen. Ever since Ned Dayne had given him the letter he had been trying to choose, and he had chosen Stark. He had felt that he was betraying that choice when he had admitted who his father was, but he wasn't. Ned Stark would always be his father, and the man would be happy that he now knew he wasn't a bastard.

Jon sat up straighter in his chair and looked around the room, so many lies had caused so much pain, this alliance between him and Daenerys was to help bridge that, he needed to stop being selfish and give these people what they needed. Suddenly he knew the words for his final toast. He rose to his feet slowly and lifted his goblet, he waited as the room finally fell into a hush, once all were quiet he spoke.

"When Ned Stark was eight years old he was sent to the Vale to foster with Lord Arryn." He said quietly. "He often told me that it felt as if he had two homes, and two fathers. I didn't understand then why it was so important to him for me to understand that, to understand that he loved Jon Arryn as much as he loved Rickard Stark." He paused, allowing his eyes to sweep the room, begging them all to understand what he was saying.

"I guess he was trying to prepare me for the day that he would have to tell me the truth, but he never got that chance. He always called me son, no matter the looks that it caused him, and he will always be my father, just as Jon Arryn was a father to him. I wish he were here today. I am a product of fire and blood, but I am also the blood of House Stark. The north remembers," He turned his gaze to Lord Royce and raised his cup "We remember," he said, intentionally repeating the Royce house words, "And winter is always coming. Perhaps that's not the best toast for a wedding feast, but gods damnit I'm a Northerner!"

"It's a good toast for a King." Daenerys said, offering an appearance of support.

Jon nodded. "Today is a start of something new," He reached his hand out to Daenerys and she took it, standing beside him. He intentionally did not let go of her hand. "I can stand here and promise you that the Iron Throne will be destroyed, that the wheel will be broken, but those are empty words, if we want to make this change we need to do so together." He raised their joint hands above their heads and lifted his cup, relieved that Daenerys went along with it. "Together!"

"Together!" The hall replied, charging their glasses.

Jon slowly lowered his and Daenerys' hands and placed his cup on the table. "However there is something that I will not share." He said quietly, keeping his eyes on Daenerys. "If you will all excuse us, it is our wedding night."

He tugged at their still joint hands and Daenerys followed, allowing him to pull her away from the table, they left the hall to cheers and crass comments of encouragement. Ghost followed closely behind. Some people decided to follow along, treating it like a bedding of sorts. Jon had already made it clear that there would be no bedding ceremony, Daenerys was five and a half months pregnant and there was no way that he was allowing anybody to put the baby at risk. The entourage however meant that they had no choice but to go to his rooms and to keep their hands linked until the door was firmly shut behind them.

As soon as the door was shut Jon dropped Daenerys hand and let his shoulders sag, leaning back against the door and closing his eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered, "I didn't know how else to get us out of there… I thought we were never going to escape."

Daenerys remained silent. When he finally opened his eyes he saw that she was standing by the window, looking out into the night, her arms wrapped around her. He studied her back for a few moments then sighed. He picked up a couple of the smaller furs and took them to one of the chairs by the fire. "The bed's yours, of course." He said quietly.

He sat down and tried to make himself comfortable, not even bothering to take off his boots. Ghost settled at his feet. A dark thought suddenly crossed his mind, all he would need was an iron sword across his lap and he would match the stone statues in the crypts far below. He shuddered at the thought and closed his eyes, trying not to listen as Daenerys moved about the room.

Finally she spoke. "Are you really going to sleep there?"

"Are you really going to invite me into the bed?" He asked bitterly.

"You are my husband now, do you really need an invitation?" She asked, seeming surprised.

Jon opened his eyes and turned to look at her, she was standing by the bed and seemed genuinely confused. He had to remind himself that her first husband had raped her on her wedding night. He chose his response carefully. "Yes, and always. I don't know what you are accustomed to, but I am not that type of man. You did not suddenly become my property today, you are your own person, and my equal."

She still seemed shocked. "You would be within your rights-"

"Let's make that one of the first rules we change." He replied cutting her off. "Marital rape is still rape and there are far too many girls getting married off too young, like Sansa was, like you were… we're going to need to change that too." She looked at him thoughtfully but said nothing. He decided that she wasn't going to reply and turned away. Ghost moved at his feet and he gave him a gentle pat.

Apparently he was wrong, the conversation wasn't over, he had just closed his eyes when Daenerys decided to speak again. "That can't be comfortable."

"I've slept on worse," he muttered, "Besides, these chairs aren't that bad, they're that same as the one I slept on when Arya… when we thought Arya was dying."

"She's your Visenya, isn't she?" Daenerys asked quietly.

Her question brought him suddenly to his feet. "What?!"

Daenerys was standing in the middle of the room, calm and certain. "She's your Visenya and Sansa is your Rhaenys." She said firmly. "I'm not saying that you want to marry either of them, but she is your warrior sister and Sansa is your sweeter, more politically cleaver sister. The three of you will rule Westeros very well together, but where do I fit in?!" Suddenly she burst into tears. "I never wanted any of this, not really, all I wanted was the big house with the red door and the lemon tree. But they took that away from me! Everything gets taken away from me."

Jon moved quickly to cross the space between them, he wrapped his arms around her and held her as she cried. The roundness of her pregnant stomach pressed against him, reminding him of the daughter growing within. Suddenly he felt her stomach move. He took a step back. "Was that…? Did the baby just kick?" he asked nervously.

Daenerys nodded. He started to reach out then paused, a dozen painful memories filling his mind…

 _Catelyn was pregnant, they saw the baby move and Robb moved eagerly forward across the nursery floor. "Mama can I feel?"_

 _Catelyn nodded, smiling at him lovingly, and Robb placed his hand on her tummy, giggling as the baby moved. "I hope it's a girl." He said._

 _Jon moved forward and reached out his hand. Catelyn slapped him away. "Don't touch me you little bastard." She hissed. Jon started crying, he didn't understand, Old Nan picked him up and carried him into another room._

 _Catelyn was pregnant again. Father was away, fighting, and things had been far worse since he was gone, she held baby Sansa and let Robb touch her belly as the baby inside of her kicked, this one kicked far more than Sansa had and everybody was convinced it would be a boy. Jon knew better than to ask by now, he just sat in the corner and played with his toys, being ignored. He coughed, as he had been doing for days, and the action drew Catelyn's attention, old Nan quickly scooped him up and took him out of the room._

 _Another pregnancy, not only were Robb, Sansa and little Arya allowed to touch her belly but so was Theon. Jon walked away and made his way to the Godswood, the pollen was thick in the air and it made his eyes hurt…._

He was pulled out of the memories by Daenerys touching his hand and placing it on her stomach. The baby kicked again and he looked down in wonder.

"You'd think you had never felt a baby kick before." Daenerys muttered.

He looked her in the eye as he answered. "I haven't."

She frowned at that. "But you had four younger brothers and sisters?"

"And a stepmother that hated me." Jon replied bitterly. "You think Lady Catelyn Stark would ever let a bastard touch her?" He snapped. Daenerys seemed hurt by his tone and he immediately regretted his words. He let his hand drop away. "I'm sorry, you didn't deserve that." He muttered and turned back towards the chair. He sat down and put his head in his hands. "I don't know how to do this, I'm sorry."

He could hear Daenerys moving around and getting ready for bed, she blew some of the candles out but left one going and finally settled into bed. Maybe ten minutes had passed when she finally spoke again. "Blow the last candle out on your way to bed, Jon, you're not spending our wedding night sleeping in a chair."

Jon was surprised but he was too tired to question it. He removed his boots and disrobed slowly, giving her plenty of time to change her mind. He noted that she was on the side furthers from the door, he carefully slipped into the other side of the bed, being careful not to touch her. He lay on his back silently, listening to the loudness of his own heartbeat. After a while Daenerys rolled over and put her arm around him.

"I don't know how we do this either." She said quietly. "But I'm willing to try and do it together." She took his hand and placed it on her tummy. "For her sake."

~~/~~


	32. Part 32

Part 32:

Winterfell felt suddenly lonely with much of the army's gone. Arya, Gendry and the Lords of the Stormlands had left with the Dornishmen, and much of Arya's peasant army had chosen to go with her. Nymeria and the direwolves had not. The direwolves had left gradually over the course of a few weeks, as to where they were going who knew? One small pack had remained in the godswood and Sansa visited them often, at least two of their number were heavily pregnant and Sansa suspected that they would leave once the pups were born and strong enough.

The Dothraki, the Unsullied, and the Men of the Vale had stated the long march south with Jon and Daenerys. _Aegon._ Sansa corrected herself. Now that he had been named Aegon Targaryen in the Light of the Seven, and wed in a Sept under that name, there was no going back. Jon Snow had belonged to the North, but Aegon Targaryen, seventh of his name, belonged to the Realm.

It didn't matter that Jon followed the old gods.

Sansa didn't truly know for sure what had happened when Jon had been betrayed at Castle Black, she didn't know if he had really died, but Jon Snow was truly dead now. She would forever regret all of the years that she had looked down on him and treated him poorly, all of the times that she had gladly pointed out to others that he was her half-brother.

"Aegon Targaryan, seventh of his name, true heir to the Iron Throne… and my cousin." Sansa whispered to herself.

She realised with horror that for all of the evil things that Ramsey had done to her he had done her one favour, she finally understood that she was not better than anybody else. It had taken a bastard to teach her the lesson, and one that had been raised as a bastard to make her truly comprehend it. She may be a slow learner, but she did learn.

Despite how poorly she had treated Jon when they were younger she did love him like a brother, or like a half-brother at least. She loved him but did not truly understand him, just as she loved, but did not truly understand Arya.

Part of Sansa wanted to pray to the Mother to keep Jon and Arya safe, well, maybe it was the Stranger that she should pray to for Arya? And maybe she should be praying to the Warrior for Jon… _Aegon._ But praying to the seven had never done her any good and Cersei's words about the gods seemed to hold an air of truth.

Another part of her (a deeper, darker part) wanted to yell, and scream, and cry… to beat her fists into the Heart tree in the godswood until they were bloody and raw… to grab Bran by the handles on his damn wheeled chair and throw him into the black pool for being so calm about it all... to make him admit that their family was being torn apart again, and it would never be put back together this time… This was the part of her that had fur and fangs. The old gods may not have names, but perhaps that was more honest?

Sansa took a deep breath and steadied herself, drawing in the coldness of the spring air, she reminded herself that she was a Lady and she would do none of these things. _Not just a Lady, a Queen. You prayed for it so strongly, Sansa. What a stupid little girl you were._ She stood and stared unseeing over the near empty courtyard, she was Queen of the North now, for what good it did, and she had a lot of messes to clean up.

She returned to her office and started sorting through the papers, her fingers brushed over one that she had already read and she decided to re-read it. Lyanna Mormont's small handwriting making her squint.

 _Queen Sansa,_

 _Ned and I have not been deaf to what has been happening at Winterfell and we will come and swear our allegiance when we can, however we will not be swearing it as House Umber. It seems that an unknown number of my people have decided to follow me and we have decided to truly join our houses, and our names, with your blessing we would call our house Umbermont and make our sigil a roaring Bear with broken chains on a diagonally split field of orange and green, our words: Unity Builds Strength. We would start using this name now, even though we are both too young to wed and will not officially unite our names unto our wedding day._

 _Your loyal subject,  
Lyanna Umbermont (Mormont)_

Sansa had already penned and sent her reply, she was happy for them and approved of the new house, she approved of them both taking the name immediately, it would help bind their people together, she agreed that officially Lyanna would be Lyanna Umbermont (Mormont) unto her wedding day. She hoped that the rebuild was going well and that they and their people were safe.

She smiled as she put the message safely away in one of her draws, she'd be prepared to bet any amount of money that Arya had her part in this, and she was glad, she had felt that she had failed Lyanna in not seeing Daenerys' actions coming. Thinking back now she was confident that Arya had helped the Young Bear.

 _It seems that an unknown number of my people have decided to follow me…_

Sansa's smile became a smirk, she sincerely doubted that many had stayed on Bear Island to be ruled by Jorah again once they knew that Lyanna had found them a place to go. A light knocking drew her from her thoughts and she went to answer the door. She was surprised to be greeted by a slightly uncertain looking Podrick.

"Pod." She acknowledged and stepped back to let him in.

"Your grace," He replied. "I, ah, I was unsure if you wanted to continue your sword lessons now that Lady Arya has gone."

Sansa regarded him carefully. "Why wouldn't I want to continue them?"

Podrick looked down. "Well, ah, you're Queen now, and I'm nowhere near as good as Lady Arya… Princess Arya, I guess I just wasn't sure if you would want to continue them with me?"

Sansa smiled and walked over towards her desk, reaching for the two wooden training swords discreetly tucked away under it. "Afraid I will beat you?" She asked as she handed one of the swords hilt first to Podrick.

Podrick smiled and took the offered training sword. "You want to train here?"

Sansa nodded. "It's the most likely place that I will be attacked, why not?

"As my Queen commands." Podrick replied with a cheeky grin.

They spared for a while before Podrick got her unbalanced and managed to pin her over her desk. She suddenly froze, feeling trapped and helpless, as memories of Ramsey's brutality flooded her mind. Podrick immediately pulled back, confusion and concern flooding his gentle features.

"I'm sorry, Lady Sansa… I mean, your grace…" Podrick stuttered. "I didn't mean…" He shook his head and stated backing his way towards the door.

Sansa was shaking but she tried to pull herself together. "Pod, it's not your fault… it's Ramsey's… the fact that I froze means that it's something we need to practice."

"Your grace…"

Sansa let out a deep breath and tightened her grip on her training sword. "I am never going to be anybody's victim ever again." She said firmly. "Now, you are going to do everything you possibly can to pin me, and I am going to do everything I possibly can to prevent it, and we are going to practice this every day until I don't freeze. Do you understand?"

Podrick nodded. "I understand, your grace but…"

"But what?!" Sansa replied more sharply than she had intended.

Podrick looked down and sighed, slowly he raised his head. "But I don't want to do it." He replied quietly. "I don't _like_ it when women feel unsafe."

Sansa felt her expression soften. "I know that you would never try and take advantage of me, I trust you." She said softly. "That's why I need your help. If I'm ever going to be free of what he did to me I need your help."

"I wish you had come with us in the first place." Podrick said quietly.

"So do I." Sansa agreed. "So do I."

~~/~~


	33. Part 33

Part 33:

 _A hand of fire reached across the moon… each of its finger composed of row upon row of armed soldiers gabbed in red, each with the burning heart blazing across their chest. Rhaegal flew across the night sky, Jon and Daenerys on his back, the fiery hand reached out and tried to grab at the dragon's tail… Daenerys fell, her large pregnant belly moving strangely as if the daughter within was trying to escape… A giant black goat stood below them with its jaws opened wide._

~~/~~

 _Nyssa knelt before her alter and prayed to the Black Goat, the masters could not hear her prayers now… her mind had been her own since Jaq had taught her the dragons kiss._

 _"_ _Why do you pray to the Black Goat, sister?" Kinvara asked. "Why do you worship death? Turn to the light, let the burning heart of R'hllor embrace you. We could live ten thousand years in the joy and light of the Red God, we could raise armies of slaves, we could smite all those that would oppress us and bring them to their knees."_

 _"_ _You've been speaking to the shadow weavers again?" Nyssa asked sadly._

 _"_ _Yes." Kinvara replied._

 _"_ _You cannot trust them, sister, the only true god is the god of death." Nyssa replied. "To subvert death is a perversion, death is as important in the natural order as birth, dark is as important as light, fire can kill as easily as ice can… more easily."_

 _"_ _Death by fire is the purest thing." Kinvara replied._

 _Nyssa sighed and turned back to her alter. "Death is the purist thing." She replied._

 _Kinvara struck her twin. "We were born under the red comet! We are meant for more than a mortal life!"_

 _"_ _The comet lasted thirteen days, lots of people were born under it, Jaq was born under the comet too." Nyssa reminded her._

 _"_ _Yes." Kinvara sneered. "But of all of them only us three lived. That is why he was married to BOTH OF US! Yet you whisper poison in his ear and he stays away from my bed in favour of yours… So I will wed myself to R'hllor, I'll take my ten thousand years… you and Jaqen can live and die in the mines of Valyria if you choose." She turned to leave._

 _"_ _Kinvara H'ghar!" Nyssa yelled after her sister. Kinvara stopped and turned to look at her. "If you wed yourself to R'hllor in an attempt to subvert death do not return, for if I see your face again I will give you the gift of death."_

 _"_ _No, I will make you burn, Nyssa H'ghar." Kinvara vowed…_

~~/~~

 _Arya tried not to flinch as the Red Woman grabbed her face hard and held it, looking into her eyes._

 _"_ _I see a darkness in you, and in that darkness eyes staring back at me… brown eyes, blue eyes, green eyes. Eyes you'll shut forever. We will meet again."_

 _Melisandre released her face and she turned her head just as the cart started to move away, Gendry tied up in the back of it, the look of hopelessness on his face was enough to break Arya's heart._

 _Things suddenly shifted from day to night, she looked up at the sky, the moon hanging full and low, a hand of fire reached across it…_

 _"_ _The night is dark and full of terrors." Melisandre whispered._

 _"_ _The night is dark and full of terrors." Kinvara whispered._

 _"_ _And I am one of them." Nyssa replied._

 _"_ _I will make you burn." Kinvara vowed._

 _"_ _I will give you the gift of death." Nyssa whispered._

 _"_ _The gift of death." Arya repeated._

~~/~~

Arya awoke with a start and shakily pushed herself from the bed. She crossed to the window and looked out over Storms End. She could feel her arms shaking as she braced herself against the stone of the window ledge, her fingers digging into the rock so hard that they were turning white. She was drenched with sweat, the room was warm, too warm! She longed for the cold of the north, the familiarity of Winterfell, but she knew it wasn't the weather that was plaguing her. It was the same dream, the same memory, that had been haunting her since she had reached the Stormlands. Melisandre was coming… would she lose Gendry again? Would she loose him for good this time?

Gendry approached from behind her and touched a clean wet cloth to her shoulders, her arms, her back… he said nothing as he washed her down. This had become their ritual… he had asked what was troubling her at first, but when she had refused to tell him he had grudgingly accepted it and focused on doing what he could for her. She turned her head to watch him, she could see the pain in his eyes as he fought against the urge to ask now.

"You're burning up." He whispered.

"Kinvara's curse." Arya replied.

"Who is Kinvara?" Gendry asked.

Arya gave a shaky laugh. "Would you believe me if I told you she was my sister four thousand years ago?"

"Maybe." Gendry replied. "Who were you?"

"A blacksmith's wife." Arya replied quietly, she did not tell him that he had met the blacksmith, or that her sister was the first priestess of R'hllor and likely still alive.

Gendry nodded. "Why doesn't that surprise me." He said gently, he dropped a kiss on her shoulder and put the bowl of water and the cloth aside, when he returned he wrapped his arms around her from behind. She leant back against him, waiting for the shaking to stop, tears began to spill down her face. She couldn't hide her fear from him any longer.

"Melisandre has some part in what's to come." She whispered, she felt his arms tense involuntarily around her at the mention of the name.

"How?" He finally asked.

"I don't know." She whispered, then the tears turned to sobs and the shaking got worse. She turned in his arms and wrapping her arms around his neck, burying her head into his chest as she cried. "I won't lose you." She whispered. "Not again… I won't let her hurt you again."

He held her close, stroking her back and her hair, dropping gentle kisses on her head. She traced along his collarbone with her fingertips, along his shoulders, his back. Each touch reassured her that he was there. This was real, this was the truth. He was Gendry Baratheon, and she was his wife, Arya Baratheon. She wasn't Nyssa H'ghar... Slowly the touches moved from comforting to something else, there was a hunger, a need inside of her and she felt Gendry's need rise in response. He lifted her chin and wiped her tears from her face.

"Tell me what you need." He whispered, his lips suddenly too mesmerising for her to look anywhere else.

"You." She answered desperately.

He took the answer as permission, his lips crashing down on hers, there was nothing sweet in the kiss… only hunger and desperation. She pulled back and studied him for a moment, her hand caressing his face.

"You are my blacksmith." She whispered, the words dizzily familiar.

He touched her face in return. "These dreams are killing you." He whispered. "I'll find a way to set you free."

"You are my freedom." She replied, the words both her own and belonging to somebody else. She drew his head down for another kiss, this one more tender but still full of hunger. She focused on him, letting everything else fall aside, she soaked him up with all of her senses… sight, smell, taste touch… Let Melisandre come… let the red hand come… let Kinvara come... Nyssa had been preparing for over four thousand years…

~~/~~

Gendry looked up as a young guard nervously entered the war room.

"Sorry to intrude, my lords, but some thankless bastard of a foreign blacksmith is demanding to see Lord Baratheon, Torbon Mont or something …"

"Tobho Mott?" Gendry asked, striding towards the guard.

The young man nodded nervously. "Maybe?"

"Where?" Gendry asked.

"In the lower courtyard, Ser Bennon and Lord…"

As soon as the guard had said where Gendry took off in a run, he took the stairs three or four at a time often jumping five or six steps to the landings, he swerved servants and guards alike as he made his way towards the lower courtyard. He rounded a corner and Tobho Mott came into sight… surrounded by four guards who all had their swords drawn.

"Drop those blades if you wish to keep those hands." Gendry growled, he was unarmed, but he was confident that Sandor had trained him well enough to dodge the first blow and catch the arm using the first man as a shield. Luckily the guards recognised him and all quickly dropped their swords, all but one stepped back just in time to not be bowled over. Gendry knocked the shoulder of the one that was too slow, sending him to the ground, but he didn't care, he threw his arms around Tobho, hugging him tightly.

"Easy lad," Tobho muttered. "You've gotten stronger."

"My wife doesn't complain." Gendry muttered with a smirk as he pulled back.

Tobho chuckled, the familiar sound warming Gendry's heart. "Must be one hells of a woman then," He placed his hands on Gendry's shoulders. "Let me look at you… by gods, those arms have gotten bigger, and have you gotten taller?"

"I think so." Gendry replied. "Or maybe I've just found some reasons to stand straighter."

Tobho nodded. "About that, is there a place that we can talk?"

Gendry nodded, he watched as Tobho picked up a bag with a wrapped item on top that looked suspiciously like a bastard sword. "Let me take that." He said reaching for the bag and carrying it lightly in one hand.

Tobho seemed to hesitate for a minute then nodded. Gendry took the bag and sword in one hand, they were heavy enough, but he was stronger than most, and led Tobho into the main Keep.

"You shouldn't have shoulder barged that guard." Tobho muttered once they were inside.

"True." Gendry muttered. "But they shouldn't have pulled their swords on you either, they are Lord Swann's men and Lord Swann is still undecided. I cannot afford to show weakness, and I had no intention of not hugging you, so I made the trade off."

"Spoken like a Lord." Tobho muttered with something less than approval.

Gendry sighed. "They don't know me, all they know is that some Stark girl found one of Robert's bastards and got him named, everything is a test right now. I may not like the game, but if I don't play it I put people I care about in a very dangerous position. I just ran out in the middle of a war council, literally ran, the dice was already cast before I saw you at sword point."

"Just… remember who you are." Tobho said quietly.

Gendry nodded. "I'm sure Arya will put me in my place if I get too full of myself."

"Feisty?" Tobho asked.

Gendry laughed. "That's an understatement… I married the woman who defeated the Night King."

Tobho looked at him thoughtfully. "So, that part of the tale is true then?"

Gendry nodded. "What have you heard that you think is untrue?"

Tobho chuckled. "That she turned into a direwolf."

Gendry stopped in the middle of the hallway and turned to look at Tobho. "She did," he said seriously. "I saw it with my own two eyes. She might even have stayed that way…"

Tobho studied his face for about twenty second before replying. "What made her change back?" He asked quietly.

"I could feel that Gendry needed me to." Arya replied as she approached them. "You must be Tobho Mott." Tobho bowed to her and she sighed. "Please don't do that, I hate all that bowing and curtsying crap." She turned her attention back to Gendry. "I sent for food and drink to be sent to our quarters for you, I'll be in the training yard teaching these slack-jaws how to stand side face… let me know when you want to show him Stormbringer."

"What would I do without you?" Gendry asked with a smile.

"You'd have been dead on the side of the Kings road thanks to a Lannister sword." Arya replied with a shrug. "But I love you anyway."

Gendry did a mock frown then smirked. "Go on, teach those boys how to fight."

Arya smirked, she stretched up and placed a light kiss on his cheek. "I'll teach them to fight like a woman." She replied.

Gendry laughed. "You know that only sounds scary coming from you or Brienne of Tarth, right?"

"Nah." Arya replied. "There's a few good wildling shield maidens… but Jon stole them all." With that she left them to it.

"That's a good woman, and two very nice blades on her belt." Tobho Mott muttered. "I like her."

Gendry nodded, secretly glad for Tobho's approval. They talked for hours, it was only as it got dark that Arya entered the room. She sat and talked and ate with them. It was nice, for a little while Gendry was able to put away that knot of fear that sat in his stomach and pretend that everything would be okay.

But in the early hours of the next morning that fear returned, as Arya burned up in his arms. He knew that there was more to her dreams as he held her, she might have been sleep talking in Ancient Valyrian, but his blood almost froze when she yelled out "Kinvara H'ghar!" If she truly was an old soul reborn what was Jaqen to her? Had he recognised something in her? If Melisandre had a role in what was to come then surely the faceless men did too. Fragments of previous conversations started to float through his mind unbidden.

 _"…_ _I keep having dreams that Jaqen H'ghar was Azor Ahai..."_

 _"_ _Wait, you're saying the faceless men killed Azor Ahai?"_

 _"_ _I'm saying that Azor Ahai was the first faceless man. And I think he caused the doom of Valyria."_

 _"_ _Who is Kinvara?"_

 _"…_ _my sister..."_

 _"_ _Who were you?"_

 _"_ _A blacksmith's wife."_

Arya rolled over in her sleep and hugged him, clinging to him tightly. He held her close as the fragments of conversation fell together. Valyria had openly practiced polygamy for thousands of years… if Kinvara had the power to place a curse that could take hold four thousand years later then both sisters were special, they could have been married to the same man… and if Jaqen H'ghar was Azor Ahai…

"Nissa Nissa." He whispered. Arya was too lost to her torment to hear him, he held her close and buried his face in her hair as silent tears fell. The minute he whispered the name he knew it was true, somehow Arya was Nissa Nissa. The knot of fear grew larger in his stomach as he held her close, he knew she loved him… but could love be enough?

~~/~~


	34. Part 34

Part 34:

Tyrion watched as Rhaegal flew back into sight and landed near the camp. The dragon had been away for nearly a week and he suspected that she had been back to her nest to check on its precious content. As to where the nest was, or if it was the only nest, he could not say, even Jon had been unsure as to where exactly Rhaegel had taken them that day. It was over two months since Rahegal had urged Jon, Gendry, and then Tyrion himself onto her back and flown north and west. Tyrion had still believed that Rhaegal was male then.

She had taken them high into the northern mountains, south of the gift, into a part so steep and treacherous that even the brave hill tribes didn't go near it. Tyrion knew for sure that if the dragon chose to leave them there he would never get off of the mountain alive. Jon and Gendry might though. Rhaegel had taken them into a hidden cave, its opening covered by foliage, and led them to her nest. There were over a dozen dragon eggs in to of various colours. The three men had marvelled at the eggs, and at the dragon herself, they had decided that the eggs were safest there and agreed not to talk to anybody about them for now, not even Sansa and Arya.

"What if somebody finds the cave?" Gendry had asked in concern.

Tyrion had laughed. "I don't even see a Wull or a Flint making their way here." He had replied with confidence.

"Don't underestimate the First Flint's." Jon had muttered quietly. "There is a journal in the Winterfell library that proves they were the Flint's of Breakstone Hill, they were kings once, before the Kings of Winter defeated them and drove them into the mountains… my great grandmother was a Flint."

Tyrion had turned to Jon in curiosity, the tone of his voice suggested that there was something more to his comment than just stating family lineage. He arched an eyebrow at the much taller man and waited but Jon said no more. Tyrion's curiosity was more than sparked now so he pressed the matter. "What was her name?"

Jon smirked as he gave the one word reply. "Arya."

Tyrion had rolled his eyes. "Well that explains everything." He'd muttered.

"Actually, it almost does." Jon had countered. "Between the wolf-blood and the wild Flint's Arya never had a chance, old Nan aways said the reason Bran couldn't stop climbing was because of the Flint in his blood."

"Sansa…" Tyrion started to argue.

"Is her mother's daughter." Jon finished. "It's said my grandmother, Lyarra, was much like Arya is… and my own mother wasn't exactly one for doing as she was told, was she?" Suddenly the sadness was back in Jon's eyes.

Tyrion felt for Jon, the truth of his identity had hit him hard, but at least he was starting to embrace it. Had this mess all started with a wild Flint? No, Tyrion didn't believe so, he believed Prince Rhaegar had much to answer for, and he had told Jon as much.

They had talked for a couple of hours, sitting in a nest of dragon eggs with a dragon watching over them. Tyrion had many questions for Gendry, and a lot of respect for the honesty in how he answered them. By the time they were ready to return to Winterfell they had come to the conclusion that the Iron Throne had to be destroyed and they had to find a new way to make things work. Tyrion had cautioned against just removing a system without a new system to replace it, he had witnessed the cost of such short-sightedness in Meereen. It had been with some surprise and much relief that he had discovered that the Stark sisters agreed… although he did not trust that Daenerys was really on board with the plan. She was a conquer, and cunning, he was certain that she was just biding her time.

He watched her now as she approached Rhaegal, she was trying so hard to get her remaining dragon back under control. He didn't like that, and he didn't like that Jon stood back and let her approach the dragon first. Jon so desperately wanted a family that he would sacrifice them all trying to get it, the sooner that baby was born the better. Tyrion sighed, it appeared that as always it would be left to him to stop the impending disaster.

Later than night, when most of the camp was asleep, Tyrion slipped out of his tent with a pouch of wine and quietly made his way towards Rhaegal. He approached her cautiously, as he always did. For maybe an hour he did little more than stroke her. Then he curled up beside her and unstopped his wine. "Okay girl, we need to talk."

A frowning Daenerys and a smirking Jon found him curled up beside Rhaegal in the morning. Jon sat down beside him, oblivious to the daggers in Daenerys' eyes…

~~/~~

 _"Fear cuts deeper than a sword."_ Arya mulled those words over as she slowly made her way back to her and Gendry's rooms. She ran her conversation with the Maester over in her head again.

"This fever should have killed you months ago." The Maester had said quietly. "But clearly it hasn't, which means your condition is beyond the skills of my learning."

Arya shook her head. "But am I pregnant?" She'd asked.

"I honestly don't know." The Maester had replied. "Your body is under a lot of stress, that, and your fever, could be enough reason to miss your blood. You say you haven't had it in three moons, yes?"

"Yes." Arya had replied quietly.

"If you _are_ pregnant, this fever could harm the baby's brain, or even cause it to be deformed, this fever should have cooked your brain by now." The Maester had cautioned.

"But it hasn't." Arya replied quietly.

The Maester had given her a sad smile. "As I said, your condition is beyond my skills of learning. Common sense says you need the aid of Archmaester Ebrose, although I suspect your aliment to be unnatural, in which case Archmaester Marwyn would be your best hope. Either way, short of going to Oldtown you will find no answers. I can write to them on your behalf, but Marwyn's sanity is questionable these days and Ebrose is a very busy man."

Arya had thanked him and excused himself. She had been given many reasons to fear over the years but the idea that she might be pregnant, and that if she was pregnant her fever may be harming the child, scared her more than anything. Gods! She just wanted this all to be over! Maybe she should just drink some moon tea to be safe and move on? But even as she thought it she knew that if she was pregnant she wanted the child. Gendry's child…

She was relieved that Gendry wasn't at their rooms when she got there, she wasn't ready to talk about this with him yet. It was only early afternoon but she suddenly felt very tired, and very confused. She curled up on their bed and cried herself to sleep. She woke up hours later to find that it was dark and Gendry was laying quietly beside her, watching her sleep.

"Hey." She said quietly.

"Hey." He replied, the ever present concern clear in his eyes. "How are you feeling?"

Arya sighed. "Well I talked to the Maester today… he doesn't know how I'm even alive so that wasn't very reassuring." Gendry nodded and waited. She took a deep breath. "He also couldn't confirm if I am pregnant or not."

Gendry watched her carefully and kept his expression guarded. "Do you think you're pregnant?" He asked softly.

"I… I haven't had my blood in three moons, but that could just be because of the fever." Arya replied.

"Do you want to be pregnant?" Gendry asked, his expression still guarded.

Arya took his hand and placed it on her stomach. "I couldn't think of anything scarier." She replied quietly. "I'm afraid I wouldn't be a good mother, but… you would be an amazing father, so I guess that would help."

"Arya…" Gendry whispered softly.

"How often do I admit that I'm scared?" She replied.

"Not very often." Gendry replied softly. "But I think you'd make a great mother." He dropped a kiss on her lips and changed the subject. "Are you hungry?"

Arya laughed. "When do I say no to food?"

Gendry nodded. "Good, I'll send for some food, there's some things we need to discuss, there was a message from Jon, they are almost in position. We move out in the morning."

~~/~~


	35. Part 35

Part 35:

 _"Red and black, and black and red, the fire's all the same.  
Red and black, and silver and gold, what difference is a name?  
Waters flow, and rivers run, and grass grows still the same,  
But rivers turn to bitter steel when waters turn to flame._

 _Fire red and fire black, and red grass field of blood.  
Fire black and fire red, the truth is like a flood.  
Blackfyre and Bittersteel, come lay with me my love,  
And I will tell you secrets known by the gods above."_

Gendry woke up with a start, he had been dreaming of his mum again, the dreams had become more frequent of late, and more vivid. This time he could almost remember her face… almost. He reached over towards where Arya should be on the bed but there was nothing but empty space. He opened his eyes and looked around the tent, there was no sign of her, but her armour and weapons were still there. He sighed and pushed himself out of bed, dressing quickly.

He wandered the camp for ages before a nervous guard pointed him towards the edge of the camp. "She didn't want any guards, m'lord, but I sent three to follow at a distance anyway." The man stammered.

Gendry nodded, he had finally learnt not to flinch whenever somebody m'lorded him but he was still not comfortable with it. "Thank you." He replied and started moving in the direction that the guard had pointed.

"M'lord?" The guard asked nervously.

He turned back to the man and smiled. "The three guards will be enough."

The man nodded and returned to his duties. Gendry continued the way that he had pointed, he hadn't gotten far from the edge of the camp when he saw the three guards, and beyond them Arya. She was standing in the middle of a field with her back to him looking up at the moon. She was barefoot and her hair was loose, she had on a long shirt and a pair of breaches. The shirt was far too big for her and hung almost to her knees, he instantly recognised it as one of his.

She looked beautiful.

He cleared his throat as he approached the guards so as not to startle them, the one in the middle turned and placed a hand on his sword. Gendry recognised him as Ser Bennon, one of Swann's men, one of the ones that had drawn a sword on Tobho Mott. Gendry stood still and waited for the knight to recognise him. The moon was over half full and the light was good yet it seemed to take a few seconds for Ser Bennon to make out who he was, slowly the man's hand moved away from his sword and he gave a stiff bow.

"Lord Baratheon." He acknowledged.

"Ser Bennon, you may stand aside." Gendry replied.

"Come to talk some sense into her, I hope." The knight muttered.

Gendry gave him a deadly look. "If I didn't know better I would think you weren't fond of that tongue." He retorted. "You are dismissed." He raised his voice. "You are all dismissed."

"You are unarmed," Bennon observed. "What if somebody attacks you?"

"Then you will no longer be forced to bow to an elevated blacksmith." Gendry replied coldly. "Although I doubt that there is anything out here that Arya cannot defeat, you are dismissed."

Ser Bennon let out a huff of disapproval. "You heard him, men, back to camp."

Gendry ignored them and took a few steps closer to Arya, she had paid no attention to the entire exchange, her face was still upturned towards the moon. Her back was straight and her shoulders square, the posture of a well-trained fighter, her hands rested lightly on her stomach… they still didn't know if she was pregnant and he knew the idea of being a mother terrified her. She had lost so much in her fight to survive, given up so many parts of herself, she knew how to be a soldier, to fight. She was even a good general, but then she had learned tactics from being a cupbearer at Twyin Lannister's table… but beyond that… it was surprising the things that made her uncertain.

Add to that the visions, the nightmares and the fever and you had a very volatile, very dangerous, very sensitive and breakable woman. Not that he would ever call her sensitive or breakable to her face, she'd hit him. She came across as cocky, arrogant, uncaring, but underneath it all was still the scared little girl that refused to cry. The angry little girl who had wanted to take on the Hound with her bare hands for killing her friend… The loyal little girl that had won his respect long before he had met the beautiful and deadly young woman that she had grown into.

Slowly she turned towards him and he could see the concern in her brow. He took a step closer then paused. "Arya?"

"It will be a full moon by the time we take King's Landing." Arya said softly.

He frowned. "I guess so, does it matter?"

"I… the dreams I've been having lately… it's a full moon." She was quite again.

He took a couple of steps closer and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close to him. "These are the dreams with Melisandre in them?" He asked.

She hugged him tightly. "Yes." She replied.

He pulled back a little and stroked a strand of hair away from her face. "Tell me about the dreams." He asked. She went to shake her head and he caught her face. The dreams were killing her, maybe talking about them would help, he needed to find a way to get through to her but he didn't know how. He decided to take a risk and tell her what he had already worked out. "Nissa Nissa, tell me." He whispered.

Her eyes widened for a moment and she studied his face. "Not Nissa Nissa," she replied slowly. "Nyssa."

He swallowed thickly and nodded. "Nyssa H'ghar." He said slowly. "Sister of Kinvara H'ghar."

"Twin sister." She corrected.

"Well that makes sense." He muttered. "And you were both married to Jaqen?"

She nodded. "Gendry…"

"This is hurting you, Arya, I know you're trying to protect me but stop. Trust me, trust that I love you, all of you, and that I will accept whatever it is you are trying to shield me from. So you were once married to Jaqen in a former life and he recognised you. Am I concerned? Yes. Am I jealous? Also yes. Do I love and trust you and know that you love me? Yes. He may have been your blacksmith then, you may be somehow linked to him, but I know that you love me. I am not going to lose you to him any more than you are going to lose me to Melisandre, do you understand?"

She reached up on her tiptoes and kissed him. "I love you." She whispered when their lips finally parted.

"I know." He replied with a smirk. "Now talk to me."

She nodded. "Let's sit."

They sat in the field under the moon for over an hour. Arya told him about the recurring dream, about how it always started and ended with the red hand going over the moon, about how the hand would grab at Rhaegal and Daenerys would fall, about her daughter trying to escape her belly as the black goat waited underneath. She talked about how Kinvara, Nyssa and Jaqen were all born under the red comet… about her memories of that life.

She talked about how the ruling houses of Valyria had not only insisted on their union but incorporated some sort of blood magic into the ceremony. Dragons had been present and they had been forced to consummate the union in front of representatives from the highest families. She talked about how she believed that in becoming the first priestess of R'hllor Kinvara had somehow perverted death for all three of them, about how Jaq had tried to set her free and send her somewhere cold. Centuries later she had woken up inside of a Weirwood. "Tree's souls are different to people's souls." She said quietly. "I'm not Nyssa, I'm just a small part of her, my Aunt Lyanna was a small part of her also, and my grandmother… when the soul of Nyssa became aware again she had become part of something so much more, but finding her way back into human form was so much harder."

"And Jaqen?" Gendry asked.

"When his masters discovered that he could not die they used it against him. It was through him that they learnt how to create Valyrian steel. In time he started to give the gift to others that he could not take for himself."

"So we have to defeat Kinvara to set Jaqen and Nyssa free." Gendry said quietly. Arya nodded. They were sitting side by side on the ground, she was leaning into him and he had his arm around her. He tightened the grip for a moment, hugging her, and then voiced the question that freeing Nyssa raised. "And when Nyssa is free, what happens to Arya?"

"I don't know." Arya replied quietly, the fear evident in her voice.

He wrapped both arms around her and hugged her tightly. "And you think it's all going to come to a head this full moon?"

"Yes." She whispered.

Gendry held her closely. "That's not enough time." He whispered. "What if defeating Kinvara means that you die?" He felt hot tears on his cheeks. She held him just as tightly as he held her and he soon realised that she was also crying. He rubbed her back and buried his face in her hair. "That's not enough time." He repeated.

Tears soon moved to desperation, gentle touches quickly became something more, he pulled her fully onto his lap so that she was straddling him and lifted her chin, bruising her lips with his own. She responded with a need equal to his, her hands were fast and nimble as always, she only had to pull away from him for a few seconds to remove her breaches. The moon bore witness as they took comfort in each other. He tried to convey in every touch how much he needed her, how much he loved her. It was almost dawn when they finally made their way back to their tent and the camp was already stirring.


	36. Part 36

Part 36:

Ned Dayne was surprised by how easy it had been to unite the major House's of Dorne, well, not easy perhaps, but quick. His aunt Allyria had done a lot of the groundwork for him, even Darkstar, Gerold Dayne, whom he had bested to become the Sword of the Morning, had fallen into line. Mind you, Gerold's new betrothal to the young and beautiful Gwyneth Yronwood might have helped that.

"Nature doesn't like a vacuum." Allyria Dayne had advised Ned quietly before presenting him to all of the gathered Nobles. "They need leadership, give it to them, but watch your back."

From the beautiful and fierce Myria Jordayne of the Tor, to the devious and cunning Spotted Sylva of Spottswood, Allyria had contacted the most devious and dangerous powerful people of Dorne and convinced them to greet Ned at Starfall when he returned from the north. They had all listened to the Stark's proposal with much interest, not one of them had believed that Daenerys had any intention of keeping to it but they were reassured by how she had lost full control of her remaining dragon. They were more relived that she had already lost the other two. But they were even more reassured by the fact that Jon/Aegon, whom held a better claim, had been raised by the honourable Ned Stark and would therefore likely keep his word. Ned Stark had done far more good than he would ever know by returning Dawn to House Dayne.

Perros Blackmont had been most interested in how Arya had changed into a direwolf and asked many questions in regards to what Ned had seen. Ser Cletus Yronwood laughed and asked exactly who was meant to rule this new, semi-independent, Dorne when the war was done. Ned had smiled and handed him a detailed plan of the Stark sister's ideas for an elected council of nobles.

"This could work." Ser Yronwood had replied after reading over the document.

Ned had nodded. "Lady Arya spent a few years in Braavos, it gave her a different perspective, a lot of these ideas are Lady Sansa's as well, and Tyrion Lannister had some input into the creation of this proposal also."

7 weddings, 4 engagements and 2 funerals later Dorne was united. The fact that one of those weddings had been his own only served to make matters more interesting. Ned had found himself marrying the fourth eldest sand-snake, Sarella Sand. Sarella was an intriguing woman, she was slim and small breasted, she had clearly inherited her black eyes from her father but her skin was as dark and smooth as any child of the Summer Isles. She wore her curly black hair short in a boyish fashion and carried a goldenheart longbow.

She had a soft smile and a keen eye for details, she was intelligent and spoke with a soft voice. She had arrived on her mother's swan ship, The Feathered Kiss, with a fleet and an army of brave Summer Islanders as her dowry. It was not an offer that could easily be refused.

There had been other matches to consider, but none so persuasive. Sarella was a good match, she had Martell blood in her veins and accepting the proposal was good for trade as well, and the woman herself was beautiful if somewhat terrifying. He might even be in love? She had been confident from the first moment that she had stepped foot on Starfall that hers was the only offer he could consider. On their wedding night she had proven to him that she was the Viper's daughter.

After they had consummated their marriage she had kissed her way down his chest and then suddenly held a small jewelled knife to his manhood. "I am not my mother." She had whispered sweetly. "If you choose another woman over me you will only do so once." She had allowed the tip of the blade to nick the head of his manhood, causing him excruciating pain, then she had replaced the blade with her mouth and taught him that the line between pleasure and pain was far more blurred than he might have previously believed.

Ned and Sarella had led a force by land and met up with Gendry and Arya, their naval force had reached Storm's End ahead of them and all plans were in place. The next few days would bring the real test, it is easy to say you are united before the fighting starts…

~~/~~

 _"Everybody enjoys what they are good at."_

 _"I don't."_

Daenerys watched Aegon as he poured over maps and debated with his captains. A plate of food lay cold and untouched beside him, a servant offered him ale and he asked for water instead. Asked, not demanded, that was the Jon Snow in him. How was he ever going to be a king if he couldn't show authority? She would teach him how to rule, she had him away from his cousins now… he had spent all of his life believing that he was a direwolf, but he was so much more than that, he was a dragon. She would make him see that. The first step was to divorce him from his bastard Stark name, he was not Jon Snow, had never been Jon Snow, she would teach him how to be Aegon Targaryen.

She placed her hand on her pregnant stomach and moved closer to him. "Aegon, you have to eat." She said as she gently touched his arm.

"I have to find the weakness in Cersei's defences." Aegon snapped back in reply.

They had already attacked twice and two attacks had been repelled, one had been focused on the Mud Gate, the other on the sewers, both plans had been Tyrion's and both plans had failed. Cersei had seen it all coming. Daenerys placed a hand on Jon's arm.

"You know what needs to be done," She said quietly. "You just don't want to be the one to do it. You're holding back our best resource, Jon, we have a dragon."

"No." Aegon whispered and shook his head. "Too many people will die."

"People are already dying, Aegon, the sooner this war is over the less people die, besides, Cersei is giving us no choice."

Tyrion shook his head. "Your grace, they will not love you if -"

"They will not love me if they are dead!" Daenerys snapped, spinning around on the little man. "You have been telling me not to use my dragons on King's Landing for over a year now, how many lives could have been saved if I had not listened to you! I came here with three dragons, three! Now two of my children are dead! If I had taken control of Kind's Landing a year ago we could have had a united realm to face the Night King and this would all be over!"

When she turned back to Aegon she realised that she had his full attention now. "And exactly how would you use Rhaegal?" He asked.

"Burn the gate." Daenerys replied confidently.

"Which gate?" Aegon questioned.

She smiled at him. "All of them." She replied. Aegon was a good commander, but he did not enjoy it, she would teach him… she would wake the dragon in him. She looked around the room at the weary faces. "It's late, get some sleep, all of you, we will continue this conversation in the morning." She turned to the servant. "Take this cold food away and get King Aegon something hot, bring it to our tent."

"Daenerys, that's not necessary." Aegon started to argue but Daenerys silenced him with a light kiss in the lips.

"Your queen is not asking you, your queen is telling you. A hot meal and a good night's sleep, you will need them if you are going to be riding Rhaegal in the morning." She did not want him to be riding Rhaegal, but he had already made it clear that he was not letting her back on dragonback until after their daughter was born. She had accepted it, for now, tomorrow however was a new day.

Slowly the Lords and captains made their way out of the tent until only Tyrion lingered. "Might I speak with the two of you about this?" He began and started pouring a cup of wine in that manner of his that assumed the answer would be yes.

"In the morning." Daenerys replied firmly. "But thank you for pouring Aegon a cup of wine to go with his food."

Tyrion, who had been about to lift the cup to his mouth, frowned and put the wine and the cup down. "I am here to serve." He replied meeting her gaze and turned and left.

"You didn't have to do that." Aegon muttered.

She touched his face. "Aegon…"

He caught her hand. "Stop calling me Aegon, I thought we agreed it was to be used as a title only."

"I didn't agree." She whispered. "Aegon is your name, the name your mother gave you, it is a beautiful name and you need to get used to hearing it. Come, eat, lie with me, in the morning we'll talk about letting Rhaegal help." She dropped a light kiss on his lips then picked up the cup and the wine and started towards their tent. He obeyed and followed, maybe there were some advantages to him having been raised as a wolf after all?

~~/~~


	37. Part 37

Part 37:

Daenerys watched as Aegon approached Rhaegal in the early light of the morning. Rhaegal opened one bronze eye and lazily watched Aegon. Aegon stroked Rhaegal's cheek gently and murmured soft words, slowly the dragon uncurled himself and stood up, stretching his wings, the bronze scales catching the early morning light and causing the green scales to glow like jade. Aegon looked back at Daenerys uncertainly.

"I don't know how…" He let the words trail off, uncertainty showing in his every action.

Daenerys smiled and moved closer. "Like this." She said gently. She placed her hand on top of his, their fingers interlinking, and ran their joined hands down the side of Rhaegal's jaw towards his neck. She whispered a command in Valyrian and Rhaegal lowered himself, making it easier to mount him. Daenerys let go of Aegon's hand and slowly began to climb up onto Rhaegal's back, all the while Rhaegal watched Aegon with unblinking eyes.

"Daenerys, I thought we agreed…" Aegon protested.

She stopped, halfway up the dragon, and looked back at Aegon smiling. "As you said, you don't know how." She returned to climbing up Rhaegal's back. Her pregnant belly made it difficult but she would not allow her face to show the strain. She was a Khaleesi, she had already shown weakness and lost her Khalasar, if she was going to win them back she needed to remind them who she was. Once she was mounted on top of Rhaegal she reached out a hand towards Aegon. "Come, let me teach you." Aegon frowned at her. "Aegon…" she encouraged.

"Jon." He replied firmly.

Daenerys sighed and rolled her eyes. " _Aegon,_ " She repeated firmly. "Aegon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar, blood of old Valyria. _Husband. King. Dragon Rider._ Your place is not on the ground, your place is up here with me."

Aegon nodded reluctantly and slowly climbed up onto Rhaegal's back behind her. As Daenerys waited she realised that she had never actually ridden Rhaegal before, there was a chance that he might not respond to her commands. But dragons were like horses, if you let them realise that you weren't confident you were in trouble. She straightened her back as much as her pregnant belly would allow and tried to get comfortable. Rhaegal wasn't Drogon, but Drogon was dead… Aegon settled behind her and wrapped his arms around her. She leant back into him, enjoying the feel of him for a moment then sighed.

"That's not going to work." She muttered. "When we're hundreds of feet up in the air you're going to want to be holding onto Rhaegal, not me."

"Hmm." Aegon muttered. "Does that mean that if I stay here we'll stay on the ground?"

Gods, he could be so frustrating at times! She shook her head, intentionally whipping her short hair into his face, and pushed his arms away. Aegon chuckled and moved back a bit grabbing onto a couple of Rhaegal's spines. He seemed less nervous and Daenerys decided that this wasn't the time to chide him.

"Okay," She said with a sigh. "First we want him to go up…"

Aegon nodded. "Up." He repeated, smirking at her.

Daenerys nodded, she was about to give the Valyrian command when Rhaegal suddenly lurched into the air of his own accord. Okay, it was fairly obvious that up was what she had wanted, she could work with this... "Okay." She said after they had reached some height. "Now we want to go left."

"Left." Aegon echoed and suddenly Rhaegal was turning left before she could give the command.

They flew for over an hour, slowly Daenerys became painfully aware that Rhaegal was responding to Aegon's words, not hers. She even tried giving the occasionally command without warning but Rhaegal simply ignored her, this wasn't good, not good at all. She went back to telling Aegon what she wanted in the hopes that he wouldn't realise, even when he didn't echo her words Rhaegal responded intuitively to his wants, just like Drogon had done with her. Daenerys needed to get the control back.

They had flown beyond their army now, Arya and Gendry's forces coming into sight. "Why don't we drop in on Arya and Gendry for breakfast?" Aegon suggested.

"Sure." Daenerys agreed, what else could she do? Rhaegal was already heading that way… but as Rhaegal changed course another army came into sight, all in red with a burning heart on their banners. "Or we could go talk to them?" She said pointing. Aegon looked but Rhaegal's course didn't change.

"No, I'm not putting you at risk."

"Aegon, don't be silly, you're armed and we have a dragon. We need to know which side they are on."

Aegon sighed and Rhaegal changed direction, heading towards the red army. As they approached Daenerys recognised Melisandre, beside her stood Kinvara! Daenerys hadn't seen High Priestess of the Red Temple of Volantis since Meereen! Rhaegal landed some distance away from the army and Aegon helped Daenerys dismount. Melisandre and Kinvara began to approach, but Aegon moved protectively in front of Daenerys and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, Melisandre stopped and allowed Kinvara to approach alone. That was… interesting.

"Greetings, Daenerys Stormborn and Aegon Wolf-cloaked," She turned and introduced herself to Aegon. "I am Kinvara, the High Priestess of the Red Temple of Volantis, the Flame of Truth, the Light of Wisdom, and First Servant of the Lord of Light. You have been expected." She cast a glance at Rhaegal. "It is good to see all three heads of the dragon here."

Daenerys frowned. "I believe your flames have misled you, Rhaegal's brothers are not here."

Kinvara gave her a gentle smile. "I have seen your other children's sacrifices, you must understand that, as much as it pains you, all things happen for a reason. The prophecy is not about three dragons, it is about the three heads of _one_ dragon."

Aegon cleared his throat. "You will forgive me if I'm a little distrustful." He shot a gaze at Melisandre. "That one has given me reason."

Kinvara simply turned her smile to Aegon. "Melisandre has made some mistakes…"

Aegon scoffed. "Mistakes?! Is _that_ what you call burning a little girl alive at the stake?!"

Kinvara's smile didn't even falter. "Shireen Baratheon's death was sad, but necessary."

"How the hells was it necessary!" Aegon roared taking a step forward and tightening his grip on his sword."

Kinvara didn't flinch and she held his gaze. "To bring you back." She replied calmly. "Only death pays for life."

"If I had been given a choice I would have chosen Shireen's life!" Aegon retorted angrily.

Kinvara however remained calm. "The choice, however, was not yours to make. The Lord of Light is not finished with you, Aegon Wolf-cloaked, you were needed in the fight against the darkness, as you are needed now, to unify your people and lead them towards the light. We are here to help."

"At what price?" Aegon asked suspiciously.

Kinvara's smile brightened and her skin seemed to glow. "No price." She said calmly. "The Lord of Light has led us here, just as he has led you here. All people are _where_ they are, and _what_ they are, for a reason. Shireen died for a reason, Viserion and Drogon died for a reason. You _live_ for a reason… Just as your uncle cloaked you in wolf skins and hid your identity for a reason. Come, break fast with me, let us talk about the victory to come."

With that she turned and headed back towards her camp, leaving them no option but to follow. Melisandre stepped back and bowed low as they passed but Aegon would not even look at her. Daenerys suddenly understood why Melisandre had been so quick to depart once Aegon had arrived at Dragonstone.

~~/~~


	38. Part 38

Part 38:

Jon and Daenerys rode Rhaegal and burnt down each of the gate's in turn, the combined armies attacked on all sides. Kings Landing was quickly taken, the main battle was bloody, but quick. Gendry remembered little of it. The Red keep was a different challenge, but eventually word came that Cersei was defeated, as to whether she was captured or killed Gendry could not say. The army of the Red Hand were everywhere and Gendry had lost sight of Arya hours ago. He, and a group of men, were busy hunting out pockets of resistance when they caught sight of a group of Dothraki raping three woman. Gendry's blood boiled, he gathered his men and ordered them to slay anybody that raped, even nobles, regardless of the colours they wore.

The sun set but Gendry could not rest, the city was a rabbit warren and the Dothraki hid in it like rats, raping as they went, but it was not only Dothraki that were doing the raping. Northerner turned against Northerner and Wildling against Wildling… Dornishman against Dornishman. The moon rose full and round as rapist after rapist lost their head. Unsullied flocked to his course, Dothraki tried to kill him, high lords screamed that this was war and within their right. Yet Gendry imagined that every woman's scream was Arya's and ten thousand men died with their britches around their ankles.

The moon hung low and bloated in the sky, tinged with red, a blood moon… it felt appropriate. Slowly Gendry, and those that followed him, made their way towards the Red Keep. He found Sandor Clegane near the gates. The bigger man looked at him with concern and he suddenly realised how terrible he must look, he was drenched in other people's blood.

"Where have you been?" Sandor gruffly asked with concern.

"Killing rapists." Gendry replied dryly. "You."

"Killing my brother…. And other rapists." Sandor replied just as grimly.

"Arya?" Gendry asked.

"Throne room." Sandor replied. "I'll show you the way."

Gendry nodded and followed in silence, relief filling him at the news that Arya was alive, but as he gave the blood moon one final glance he realised that it wasn't over yet. He was tired and hungry, his body ached, so did his heart. He'd killed hundreds of rapists, but he'd been able to do little for the raped. He heard Jon call out his name and barely felt he had the energy to lift his head in acknowledgement. He scanned the room, there were hundreds of Red Hand soldiers, some Northerner's, Wildlings, a few Dothraki Khals, Unsullied, men from the Vale, the Stormlands and Dorne. His eyes met those of Melisandre, then moved to the red priestess beside her. He shivered and kept searching. Why did Arya have to be so short? Eventually he found her, she was slowly walking towards him from the far end of the hall, near the Iron Throne. The throne itself held his gaze for a moment, he had never actually seen it before, then slowly he started walking towards her.

People stepped aside as they slowly walked towards each other, Gendry imagined that he felt the eyes of both red priestesses on him but he ignored it. Some people tried to speak to him but there was only one person in the room that mattered, he ignored them. They met in the middle of the great hall and he pulled her into an embrace. There were no words. Eventually both parties pulled away, he studied his wife's eyes and found only sadness.

Jon embraced him next, then Ned Dayne, then others. He wanted them all to go away, all he wanted was to hold his wife, find some quiet corner, and go to sleep. But she was pulled in one direction whilst he was pulled in another. The Iron Throne loomed over all of them. Eventually the other Red Priestess cleared her voice.

"This has been a great victory, but there is still one matter that needs to be decided, who sits on the Iron Throne?"

"Nobody sits on it." Jon replied firmly. "We're destroying it."

The priestess smiled at him patiently. "No, you're not." She said calmly. Suddenly Jon was surrounded by Red Hand soldiers. "Daenerys Targaryen, daughter of Aerys… I, Kinvara, the First Servant of the Lord of Light, name you the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."

Gendry looked on in shock as Daenerys, heavy with child, slowly waddled her way towards the Iron Throne. This wasn't the plan, Daenerys had betrayed them!

"No." Jon yelled. "Daenerys, don't do this! Daenerys, please, we agreed. It is too much responsibility for one person. We agreed." Daenerys ignored him.

"What shall we do with the Wolf-cloaked?" Kinvara asked as Daenerys slowly lowered herself onto the throne.

"Bring him here." Daenerys said calmly, one hand rested on her belly which was moving slightly as if the daughter within had started to kick in protest. Six soldiers brought Jon in front of her and forced him to his knees at the bottom of the dais. "Aegon." She said sadly. "I have tried to teach you, but you refuse to embrace your true identity. Now I give you a choice, name me as your queen, be my consort and rule beside me."

"Or what?" Jon asked, his voice thick with betrayal.

"Or die." Daenerys replied sadly. The child in her womb kicked harder.

"No!" Arya screamed from across the room.

Suddenly Red hand Soldiers were grabbing at her. Gendry could only look on as she started to struggle. There was no time to come up with a good plan, he needed something that would make the Red Priestess stop. _Kinvara._ Her name was _Kinvara!_ But what could he say that would make her listen to him? He suddenly remembered the Valyrian blade at his hip. They needed to feel that they could control somebody with a powerful claim… it was a _bad_ plan… a _foolish_ plan… but he didn't have time to come up with a better one.

Gendry closed his eyes and took a deep breath, he let the Baratheon stick slip from his fingers and fall to the ground. It was time to declare his Targaryen heritage. He moved slowly, his actions intending to show that he was not acting as an aggressor. "Kinvara H'ghar," He said slowly. "She is not the rightful heir… the rightful heir has not been on the Iron Throne since the death of King Aegon IV."

He gestured to the blade on his hip but did not reach for it. "If you will allow me to draw this blade I will show you that it is Blackfyre, this blade is my inheritance, as it was my mother's before me."

Red Hand soldiers started to close in around him but Kinvara stopped them with a hand gesture. She approached him with curiosity. "What did you just call me?" She asked quietly.

"I called you by your name." Gendry replied calmly. "You may not have heard it in four thousand years, but it is still your name."

"I am the Flame of Truth, wed to the eternal burning heart of the Lord of Light." Kinvara told him, her dark eyes burning into him.

"I am aware of your second husband." Gendry replied calmly. "And also of your first. You were one of twin wives to Azor Ahai." He waited for her to acknowledge the truth of his words.

"That was a very long time ago." She replied calmly. The room was filled with gasps and hushed whispers.

"How much it must have _burnt_ you not to be his Nissa Nissa." Gendry replied calmly. There it was, a twitch on the jawline, a hardening of the gaze. He'd hit a nerve. He was going to get himself killed… but maybe Arya and Jon would stand a chance. He took a breath and forced himself to keep talking, the longer he could hold her attention, the more time for somebody to come up with a better plan.

"You are Kinvara H'ghar, twin sister to Nyssa, both wed to Jaqen. All three of you were born under a red comet over four thousand years ago, you were wed in a ritual involving blood and fire in the heart of Valyria, the forty families and their dragons bore witness as Jaq chose Nyssa over you, only consummating his marriage with you because he had no choice."

"That is an _interesting_ interpretation of events." Kinvara replied dangerously. "Where did you hear it?"

He smiled at her. "From one that prays to the Black Goat, Nyssa told me. I know what you want, you want the dragon. You want the ruler of Westeros to follow the Lord of Light… publicly at least, you want Nyssa, and you want Jaqen. Daenerys _cannot_ give you these things. If you kill Jon I have no _reason_ to give you these things."

Kinvara smiled cruelly. "I guess I don't need _Daenerys_ then."

No! That had not been his intent! Gendry watched in horror as Daenerys was pulled screaming from the Iron Throne and her throat slit, the baby still kicking in her womb even as she fell to the ground. Jon screamed out her name and managed to throw of his guards, receiving a blade in the gut in the process, he tried to stand but the wound was bad, he fell to his hands and knees but continued to scramble up the stairs, leaving a trail of blood behind him. He pulled Daenerys into his lap and desperately tried to staunch the wound at her throat. Even though she had threatened to kill him a minute ago he still cared for her, and for the child inside of her. He cradled her in his lap and begged her not to die. The Unsullied and the Dothraki turned on the Red Hand soldiers. In the commotion Kinvara grabbed Gendry and pulled him towards the throne.

"Where is Jaq." She demanded.

"This one is Jaq." A voice said, and suddenly the man behind him, dressed in the uniform of the Red Hand, was Jaqen H'ghar.

"This one is Jaq." The same voice said from another direction. This Jaqen was dressed as a Dothraki.

"This one is Jaq." The same voice, another direction, this one was dressed as an unsullied.

"When you perverted your life by binding yourself to R'hllor, you also unnaturally extended the lives of those that were bound to you, they've learnt a few things over the last four thousand years." Gendry said calmly as more and more people changed their faces. Soon there were fifty, sixty, a hundred Jaqen H'ghar's in the room.

Kinvara seemed unimpressed, she stepped closer to Gendry. "Where is Nyssa?"

"This one is Nyssa." Arya replied as she threw off the men around her. "I need no blade to fight you, sister." She undid her sword belt and let it fall to the floor. "I need no armour against you either." Her hands moved to one of the buckles holding her armour in place and she started to unfasten it.

Kinvara raised her hand and red flame flew towards Arya. Arya laughed and let a piece of her armour fall to the floor. She reached out her hand and seemed to catch the bolt of fire, as it touched her hand the flame changed from red to a deep violet.

"Pretty trick, but you will have to try better than that, dear sister, we have both lived in the mines of Valyria, such showy magic is commonplace."

Gendry knew that it was Arya that was speaking, but the voice sounded wrong. The voice sounded richer, fuller, like a dozen voices rolled into one, and there was a woodiness to it, it was almost as if the Weirwoods themselves were speaking through Arya. He suddenly remembered her trying to explain to him that she wasn't Nyssa, she was a _part_ of Nyssa, as her aunt Lyanna and her grandmother Lyarra had also been… tree souls were different to human souls and Nyssa had awoken inside of a Weirwood.

As the purple flame slowly licked it's way around Arya's hand those that had been at the battle against the Night King, those that had seen Arya change into a direwolf, started backing up. The flame danced on Arya's fingertips as she unfastened her buckles and more armour dropped to the floor. Kinvara lashed out with more flame, this attack was more vicious, a ball of fire twice the size of Arya's head flew across the room towards her, again Arya caught and changed it. Again Arya laughed and continued to strip. A dozen Jaqen's behind and beside her. Slowly the violet flame moved up Arya's arm and over her shoulder. She removed her boots carefully. "No point wasting good boots, is there sister? We have both been without shoes more than once." She said calmly. The action only served to incite Kinvara more.

Kinvara lashed out at Arya again and again with fire, until Arya was sanding naked, consumed in violet flame. Arya grinned and the Jaqen's closest to her took a step backwards. "You never did learn the dragon's kiss, did you sister?" She walked slowly towards Kinvara. "Do you know the secret to forging good steel, sister? You need heat, but you also need cold. Nature needs balance, fire and ice, life and death, when you upset the scales everybody pays the cost, it's time to put the scales right, the black goat is waiting."

Gendry suddenly realised that he had been missing the prefect opportunity, he pulled Blackfyre from it's scabbard and swung at Kinvara's neck, just above her necklace, beheading her in a single action. Her head fell and rolled on the ground but strangely her body remained standing.

"That wasn't very nice." Her head said from where it had landed on the floor. Her headless body turned towards him, he was too shocked to defend himself as her hands wrapped around his throat, there was pain, and then there was only darkness…

~~/~~


	39. Part 39

Arya had been doing her best to avoid Kinvara, Arya understood that a confrontation was coming but she needed to be the one to choose the battleground. There were too many people that she cared about in the Throne Room, too many people that were needed to help Westeros pull itself together. She needed space, she needed to think, she needed to clear her mind. She had been getting more and more of Nyssa's memories lately, suddenly she knew what she needed to do. _The dragon's kiss._ She needed to protect her mind and make it her own… but was that her as in Arya or her as in Nyssa?

 _'_ _Both.'_ A voice in her mind answered. The voice was her own, but it was also the voice of Lyanna, Lyarra, Alysanne… it was the rustling of leaves in the Weirwood at Winterfell… the icy-cold of the black pool on which the heart tree had feed for thousands of years… the memories of a thousand-thousand children of the forest… and so much more.

 _'_ _To protect ourself, first we must know ourself."_ The voice whispered. _'We must remember how we got here. You are not a lone wolf, Arya Stark, you have never been a lone wolf."_

Suddenly Arya was the Weirwood at Winterfell, a bleeding Brandon, long before the name of Stark, using the cool water that the tree drank from to clean his wounds. He lost consciousness under the tree, curled amongst the bone white bark of it's exposed roots and still bleeding. Expecting to die, he muttered one last player, one last plea for help.

The children of the forest that tended to the Weirwood had abandoned it, called north by a more powerful and corrupted tree, so the Weirwood of the black pool made a choice. It drank in his blood and entered his dreams, speaking to him in his own tongue. And so a pact was made, not made with the children of the forest, but with the trees themselves…

The Weirwood of the black pool gave him the sapling that became the Weirwood at Storms End, binding itself to the strength of the Storm Kings as well, but the corrupted Weirwood in the lands of always winter was still too strong. The Weirwood of the black pool continued to reach out to Brandon's dreams, it taught him the magics that he used to build the wall, cutting off the influence of the corrupted Weirwood, and the one that dwelt within it, but even that only brought time. The Weirwood needed to be stronger, the family bound to it needed to be stronger…

When the First Kings fell the Weirewood planted the thought of marrying the daughters into the house instead of killing them, gaining their power, the same with the Burrow Kings, by the time of the fall of the Marsh Kings it was easy. But as the Kings of Winter rose and devoured the power of the other bloodlines the Weirwood realised that it needed a stronger connection to the species that now protected it… Then the red comet came and the Weirwoods power swelled, with help from its offspring at Storm's End it managed to reach across the broken arm of Dorne and find the children's opposites, the moon singers. Yet they had been severed from their black-barked trees and enslaved to the mines of Valyria… and so another pact was made… through the eyes of the singers the Weirwood of the black pool found Nyssa… Suddenly Arya knew how to close her mind, and how to choose whom to keep it open to… that was when she realised that she could feel Jaqen H'ghar.

 _'_ _Are you angry at me?'_ Jaqen asked quietly.

 _'_ _Why would I be angry?'_ Nyssa/Arya asked.

 _'_ _I made a deal with the moon singers to send you away.'_ Jaq replied.

 _'_ _No, I'm not angry.'_ She replied. _'You made a deal with more than the moon singers.'_

 _'_ _At the time I did not know.'_ There was a sadness to the thought. Nyssa/Arya immediately wanted to comfort him.

 _'_ _There was little choice to protect ourselves from my sister's actions. There is no point in regret, my Jaq, and no human that you could have turned to against the Shadow Binders of Asshai. It worked out for the best, who could have known that a tree could make such good alliances?'_

He ignored her attempt at jest, his thoughts remained serious and sad, his next thought even seemed to include a hint of jealousy. _'And this Gendry… you love him?'_ Jaqen asked.

Nyssa/Arya paused, that was a complicated question. _'Did I love Rhaegar? Did I love Rickard? Did I love a hundred thousand others? That of me that is Arya loves him, that of me that is Nyssa respects him.'_ She replied.

 _'_ _Gendry is different.'_ He challenged.

 _'_ _Yes,'_ She agreed, the answer was the sigh of a thousand red leaves rustling in the wind. _'Gendry is different.'_

 _'_ _I understand,'_ Jaqen thought in reply. _'I know what I have become… I have done terrible things… I have become a terrible thing.'_

 _'_ _Oh Jaq, you are my blacksmith.'_ Nyssa/Arya answered.

 _'_ _That of you that is Arya has said that to him.'_ Jaqen replied, his tone still cautious.

 _'_ _For that of me that is Arya it is true.'_ Nyssa/Arya answered without hesitation. _'Do you love Arya? She was just a girl when you met her.'_

 _'_ _A brave and angry girl, I respect her.'_ Jaqen replied, using her own words.

She sent him the thought of a smile. _'I have missed you.'_

Suddenly she was drawn out of the silent reunion by Jon's voice calling out Gendry's name, she looked up and the part of her that was Arya felt her heart swell. Yet she did not want him here, so close to Kinvara, she walked slowly towards him. They embraced in the middle of the Throne Room, he was drenched in blood, but did not seem to have any serious injuries. Nyssa/Arya felt Kinvara's gaze and pulled back from the embrace, looking up at Gendry sadly. Kinvara had not worked out who she was yet, but when Kinvara did she would try and use Arya's love for Gendry against her. As Jon drew Gendry into an embrace Arya turned towards Sandor Clegane and spoke quietly with him. She watched as Gendry was pulled in one direction and carefully manoeuvred herself the other way, moving from person to person and trying not to draw Kinvara's attention.

 _'_ _We need to stop her.'_ Jaqen's voice whispered urgently in her mind.

 _'_ _Not here.'_ She told him. _'I don't want it to happen here.'_

 _'_ _We may not have a choice.'_ He replied.

Suddenly Kinvara made her move, her voice sweet as molasses and her words equally as dark. Nyssa/Arya watched on in horror as Daenerys betrayed them so easily, she reached out to the child in Daenerys's womb, a child that was also a part of Nyssa and the Weirwood of the black pool, a child that was Lyanna's granddaughter, Lyarra's great-granddaughter… Nyssa/Arya/the unborn child began to fight. As Daenerys started to slowly lower herself onto the throne Nyssa/Arya/the unborn child fought to escape her.

Arya's mind was everywhere, she was the Weirwood, she was Nyssa, she was Lyanna, Lyarra, Alysanne… she was the unborn child in Daenerys womb… then Daenerys's words drew her back into herself.

"Aegon, I have tried to teach you, but you refuse to embrace your true identity. Now I give you a choice, name me as your queen, be my consort and rule beside me."

"Or what?" Jon asked. Suddenly he was that lost boy again, the boy whom Arya's mother had always called ' _bastard'_ , the boy that Sansa had always called ' _half-brother'_. He was that boy who wanted to break but refused to. The boy that would not cry, no matter how cruel the words. Defiance burnt in his eyes, Daenerys might beat him, but she could never break him…

"Or die." Daenerys replied sadly.

"No!" The scream belonged to Arya alone, the greater self tried to pull her back but her fierce love for (and protectiveness of) Jon made her reach for her weapon. Half a dozen Red Hand soldiers grabbed at her, making it impossible to move, yet she continued to struggle.

 _'_ _A girl is smarter than this, you have other weapons, use them.'_ Jaqen chided. She ignored him, still fighting against those around her. "Arya." Jaqen hissed in her ear. "Arya Stark of Winterfell, a girl is smarter than this."

Suddenly she realised that she was hearing Jaqen's voice aloud. She looked up and sure enough there he was, standing in front of her, his red and white hair streaming down his shoulders. His hair had only been red when Kinvara had known him, the white had come later, and his back was turned to the Red Priestess. His voice grounded Arya, she focused on his eyes and tried to remember all that she was. She took in his clothing, he was dressed in the uniform of the Red Hand.

"Gendry knew you would come." She whispered. She did not wait for a response, she knew what needed to be done. Her mind reached out to the child in Daenerys' womb, not just her but all that had come before her, the Weirwood of the black pool itself reached out… Gendry's voice was so unexpected that it broke her concentration.

"Kinvara H'ghar, she is not the rightful heir… the rightful heir has not been on the Iron throne since the death of Aegon IV. If you will allow me to draw this blade I will show you that it is Blackfyre, this blade is my inheritance, as it was my mother's before me."

Arya watched as Gendry drew Kinvara's attention, as he challenged and insulted the powerful priestess. Her sweet Gendry, he was sacrificing himself to give them a chance. She reached out to the child in Daenerys womb again and tried to force Daenerys into labour…there wasn't much time. Daenerys' first contraction hit as the Red Hand soldiers pulled her from the Iron Throne, a scream tearing from Daenerys' lips… then suddenly Daenerys' throat was cut, not deeply enough to kill her immediately, but she would bleed out in a few minutes. The child had to be born now! The Weirwood reached out to the child, keeping it rooted to life even as Daenerys died around it… the time to hide was over.

Arya tried to remember what it had felt like when the first kiss of dragon's blood had touched her fevered skin, but she could not summon the violet fire, she needed a spark… no ordinary fire would do… could she trick Kinvara into helping her? She sent the thought to Jaqen, the idea that she needed Kinvara to lash out at her with fire. The Jaq in front of her nodded in understanding as more people around her changed their faces and became Jaqen as well.

"This one is Jaq." A faceless man on the far side of the room said.

"This one is Jaq." Said another, and another. All the while the Jaqen in front of her remained focused on her.

"This one is Nyssa." Nyssa/Arya finally called out drawing Kinvara's attention. Her guards moved back as one and slowly transformed into numerous Jaqen H'agars. She needed to make Kinvara angry, she reached for her sword belt. "I need no blade to fight you, sister." She declared and let Stormbringer fall to the ground. She undid her cloak and let it fall, or did a Jaqen catch it? She moved her hands to one of the buckles on her armour, her attention staying all the while on Kinvara. "I need no armour against you either."

Even after four thousand years Kinvara was still predictably petty and jealous. Jaq's games and Nyssa/Arya's goading were enough to make Kinvara lash out with flame. Nyssa let a piece of armour fall to the floor and reached out her hand, catching the bolt of fire. She had to fight back the urge to laugh as the flame changed from red to violet and kissed her skin. "Pretty trick, but you will have to try better than that, dear sister, we have both lived in the mines of Valyria, such showy magic is commonplace."

Nyssa continued to remove the armour with nimble fingers, once the armour was gone she started to strip. Clothing would only be a hindrance, and if she did change form it would be destroyed… that mattered to Arya, Nyssa cared not for the ignorance of the prudish Westrossi, they had lost much of their magic and could not understand the power she was calling up. Kinvara did not understand where Nyssa's power lay and so attacked her again and again, each attack making her stronger. The violet flames burnt her clean, she could feel the blood lust rising in some of the men around her and she drew on that power also. She continued to goad her sister as she removed her boots, then offered her a lesson in smithing.

Gendry took the opportunity provided by Nyssa's distraction and struck quickly, removing Kinvara's head from her body. But he struck above the necklace and his attack only served to turn Kinvara's rage on him. Nyssa's eyes were drawn to the ruby around her headless sister's neck as Kinvara's hands tightened around Gendry's neck and burst into flame. Nyssa immediately realised that the necklace was the key to Kinvara's power, she was disappointed, how weak of her sister to be reliant on a talisman.

The part of Nyssa that was Arya screamed silently, but there was no time, Nyssa pushed that of her that was Arya deep into the Weirwood of the black pool and advanced on Kinvara. Kinvara's head watched from where it lay on the floor and her body released Gendry, letting him fall to the floor as large welts began to form around his neck. Nyssa reached out with her mind and found that Gendry was alive, just, she slammed his consciousness deep into the Weirwood at Storms End, there was no time to do anything more.

As Nyssa closed in on Kinvara she changed into a giant black goat, she swallowed Kinvara's body and crushed the gem of the necklace in her massive jaws, she spat the remains of the necklace out and consumed Kinvara's head. Next she turned to Jon and Daenerys, Jon could only look on at the black goat in shock as she advanced, Daenerys was dead, her body cradled in Jon's lap as silent tears streamed down his face. The black goat bit at Daenerys' giant belly, much to Jon's horror, she felt the babe in her enormous mouth and carefully spat it out into Jon's lap, alive and well. The girl almost instantly started to cry.

The black goat changed form again, but it did not become Arya, it became Nyssa. She was short, like her sister, their features near identical, but Nyssa's face was slightly longer. "Life and death are a balance." She told Jon in a sing-song voice. "Neither one is good or bad, they just are." Then she turned into the black goat again and leaped at Melisandre, devouring her, destroying and spitting out the necklace, as she had done with Kinvara.

There were other key members of R'hllor in the throne room, the black goat advanced on, and devoured, each of them one by one. An army of Jaq's dispatching all of the Red Hand soldiers in the most confusing battle ever seen, those allied with Arya and Jon quickly turned on the Red Hand soldiers as well… at least the ones that were not Jaqen. More soldiers poured in on both sides, but as the faceless men wore all colours they were only greeted with confusion. Once the last Red Hand soldier had fallen the faceless men started removing their faces and returning to their original forms one by one. They were young and old, male and female, black and white. Each one would remove their face, bow to the Jaqen that was closest to Nyssa, and then immediately fall to the ground dead.

Eventually there was only one Jaqen H'ghar, he stood facing the black goat in the centre of the throne room. "The Faceless Men are no more." He said quietly. "The Hall of Faces is dust."

The black goat returned to the form of Nyssa. "There is one more thing that needs doing." Nyssa said calmly. She walked towards Gendry and knelt down beside him, her flame had gone low and would soon go out, she could not heal him, but she could stop him from dying. The purple flame flickered around his neck for a second and the swelling reduced, but his neck still looked red and angry. She placed a gentle kiss on his forehead and drew him back from the tree at Storm's End. A moment later his eyes flickered open. She smiled at him then allowed the body to return to being Arya, she allowed Arya's consciousness to return and slowly stood up.

Arya remained kneeling over Gendry as Nyssa stood up out of her. Nyssa turned to face Jaqen, he reached out to touch her face but his hand passed straight through her.

"Are you ready?" He asked her gently.

She nodded. "I've been ready for four thousand years." She replied gently.

Jaqen's body fell back behind him, but he remained, he reached out to touch her face again and this time his hand did not pass through her. "My Nyssa." He whispered.

"My blacksmith." She replied.

He placed a gentle kiss on her lips and then slowly they both faded away into nothing.

~~/~~


	40. Part 40

Gendry entered the birthing room nervously, although the Archmaesters had refused to let him into the birthing room whilst Arya was in labour he had been close enough to hear Arya's screams and yelling. Yet the woman, who only twenty minutes ago had been yelling that she would sooner cut off his manhood than go through this again (and not in such kind words), seemed calm as she sat there feeding the new-born baby, _their_ baby.

"A son." Archmaester Marwyn told him warmly.

"A _perfectly healthy_ baby boy." Archmaester Ebrose added. "Although I can't truly explain how. The fever-"

"Damint Ebrose, I told you, it was a supernatural possession, not a fever." Marwyn interrupted.

"You're a stupid old fool, Marwyn, a fever is a fever and it does certain harm to the body over a prolonged period of time… regardless of the cause. Lady Arya has been fever-free for over five months now, and somehow both her and the child have been able to recover, I may not understand it…"

"Ah-ha, so you admit that you don't understand the _cause_ of the fever." Marwyn replied triumphantly.

Gendry firmly smacked his hand palm down on a nearby table to draw their attention, both men turned around in surprise and he raised his eyebrows at them and pointed firmly at the door.

"Ah, right, we should take this debate somewhere else." Ebrose replied apologetically.

Gendry nodded, he walked past the two Archmaesters to his wife and new born son. It wasn't that he minded their continued interest in Arya, or their insistence on monitoring her pregnancy, in fact he welcomed their help, but both men did tend to get distracted. One of the three Dothraki birthing women that Arya had insisted be present for the birth, an old woman, moved a chair near the bed for him, he accepted it with a thankful nod.

"Khal Chakat Assolat." She said with respect and bowed deeply.

Gendry had learnt that the term loosely translated to "The Leader/King whom commands in silence."

Arya reached out a hand to him and he squeezed the offered hand tightly, hoping that his expression would convey the words that he couldn't say. Arya smiled up at him and they stayed like that, in silence, for a while. Then she pulled her hand away and started to speak. "I know you wanted to use the name Orys if it was a boy," She said slowly, she tapped her index finger twice on the sheet as she said 'Orys'. "But I've been thinking, and I like the name Durran better." She said quietly. She tapped her middle finger twice on the sheet as she said 'Durran'. "So, what do you think? Do we name him Orys, after the head of House Baratheon?" She again tapped the sheet twice with her index finger as she said 'Orys'. "Or do we name him Durran, after Durran Godsgrief, the first Storm King?"

Gods he loved her! It had been five months since the confrontation with Kinvara, which had cost him his voice, and his inability to speak had frustrated him at first, but she always worked hard to make it easier for him to communicate. Even now, when she had just given birth to their first-born son, she was doing everything possible to make it easy for his opinion to be heard. He placed his hand over hers and firmly tapped her middle finger with two fingers twice.

She smiled at him. "Durran it is then." She said quietly. The baby had stopped feeding as they talked, she gently passed him over and Gendry held his son in his arms for the first time. The old Dothraki woman rushed forward to correct his hands.

"You must support the head, Khal Chakat Assolat, like this, see? He will be strong, but he has never had to support his head before."

Gendry nodded and adjusted his hands accordingly, he had held Jon's daughter, Visenya, many times, but Gendry had spent the first two weeks of Visenya's life recovering from the injuries that he had suffered at Kinvara's hands. The Dothraki woman bowed low and backed away without righting herself.

Gendry had held other babies as well. After Daenerys' death the Dothraki fighters had hunted down and killed the remnants of the Red Hand, then ritualistically taken their own lives, apparently Daenerys had named them all her 'bloodriders' and bound their deaths to hers. This left thousands of Dothraki women and children without protectors, a roll that Arya had stepped up to personally. And the other Stormlands Lords started to help when they realised that their aid would be repaid with Dothraki horses.

Gendry studied the boy in his arms, Durran had the same thick back hair as him, but the babe's eyes were shut so Gendry couldn't see what colour they were, he held the babe closely and let him sleep.

~~/~~

Sansa smiled as she saw the dragon approach, Rhaegal landed in the godswood and Sansa took off in a run to meet her family, Podrick and Brienne followed at a respectable distance. Both Jon and Gendry helped Arya dismount, the baby was slung to Arya's chest in a Dothraki style wrap, and Visenya was bound to the Dothraki wet-nurse in the same fashion. The pack of direwolves had stayed and they beat Sansa to greeting their new pack members. Arya looked tired, but healthy. They spent maybe an hour at the Heart Tree before seeking the shelter of the main Keep. Sansa got to hold both babies for the first time, she held Visenya carefully in her arms and noticed with concern that Jon had not moved to touch the child once, she would have to talk to Arya about that, it wasn't a good sign. Sansa was bursting to share her own news, but it could wait.

Some of the wolf pups followed and Sansa noticed the sadness in Jon's expression, Ghost had died during the taking of King's Landing. Sansa knew that pain.

"Winterfell had wolf-pups again." Jon observed.

Sansa nodded. "A pack stayed, I've ordered the guards to let them come and go as they wish."

"Have any adopted you yet?" Jon asked carefully.

Sansa shook her head. "I'll never had a relationship with a direwolf like I had with Lady, just as you will never have another Ghost." Her hand moved unconsciously to her stomach. "But at least any children I have will get the chance to have the same opportunity if they wish."

Arya smirked and glanced at Podrick, who was walking a respectable distance behind them. "How do you fell about that, Pod?"

"I, ah…" Podrick blushed. "I'm sure Queen Sansa knows what she's doing." He mumbled.

Jon stopped walking and frowned. "What am I missing?"

Sansa laughed. "Podrick is my consort." She replied, happy to say it out loud. "We didn't want to make it official until after I had been able to tell you both in person."

"But you're pregnant." Arya finished. Sansa nodded. "Well I'm not leaving until the marriage happens then." She said firmly.

"Good." Sansa replied firmly. "Because I want both you and Jon to give me away." Peace was as challenging as war, but they were getting there, the pack might not always be together, but they were still pack. Ironic that it was a dragon that helped keep them closer.

~~/~~

 ** _Across the Narrow Sea:_**

The doors of the House of Black and White were cracked and hung oddly from their hinges, as if a great force had escaped from within, they were partly open. Pyat Pree placed a hand on the white door but it would not move. He studied it curiously, the skin of his hand looked plump and purple against the white of the Weirwood, his blue nails were so dark as to almost be black. He licked a stray drop of the elixir from his blue lips and moved his hand to the other door. The black wood knew him, and instantly allowed him entry.

The hall was dark, but Pyat did not need light to see, he looked around the Atrium with interest, the place had held great power for a very long time, but the power was gone now, leaving behind only an echo of its presence. But even echoes have power… He studied the statues one by one, he caressed the cheek of the weeping woman, touched the paw of the Lion of Night, he bowed his head to the Black Goat and placed his hand above his heart in front of the Fiery Heart of the Lord of Light. He turned his back to the Stranger, and spent maybe an hour studying the Weirwood Mask… he contemplated each idol of death and showed it due respect.

Then he inspected the great pool in the centre of the room. Large cracks filled the bottom of it, again it was as if some great force had moved up and out. The pool was dry save for a few stagnant puddles of poisoned water. He trailed his fingers in one of the puddles then sniffed them. _Interesting_ , he did not know the poison. Pyat continued to explore, every room had its stories to tell, and every story was fascinating.

Maybe it took him hours, maybe it took him days, it did not matter to the Undying, eventually he made his way to the Hall of Faces. He took his time with the room, as he had with all of the others, he knew that she was there, but he ignored her. He trailed his fingers through dust and touched the places where faces had sat, he took in the stumps of candles that had drowned in their own wax. She was sitting huddled in the centre of the room, naked and rocking. She seemed to be holding something in her lap and was repeating a phrase over and over again. He stopped to listen.

"This one is Missandei." She whispered over and over again.

He approached her slowly, on quiet feet, this was the one that he was looking for. Did she have it?

"This one is Missandei." She whispered again, desperately, it was almost as if she was trying to convince herself.

"Are you? Are you really Missandei?" He asked curiously.

She looked up at him, her hair was knotted curls, her golden eyes looked desperate, she wore the face of a girl from the Butterfly Isle, but fine cracks were starting to show in the mask.

"This one is Missandei." She whispered, the words sounded like a plea. In her naked lap she clutched a large dragon egg.

He smiled at her, he reached into his robe and pulled out a small blue leaf, he held it out to her. "You are not Missandei, you are a Moon Singer, I can see that. You try to mask it but I can see the truth of you. Here." He held the leaf out to her.

She hesitated at first, then slowly she reached out a hand, he let the small leaf fall into her opened palm. As she looked at the leaf the mask finally fell away and turned to dust. Her dark skin changed from brown to a blue-black and thickened like bark. Her dark curls grew into twigs and small blue leaves started to sprout from them, her eyes became brighter, when she spoke again her voice was more woody and she spoke in a language as old as the trees themselves.

"This one is Star-Chaser." She whispered.

"Your trees miss you, Star-Chaser, you should be with them… don't you want to be with your trees?" He asked softly.

She looked uncertain. "This one is Star-Chaser." She repeated.

He nodded. "Here," he said offering his hand to her. "Let me take you to your trees, you can bring that with you." He gestured to the dragon egg.

Star-Chaser took his hand and stood slowly, he gently took the dragon egg from her hand, the egg was fascinating, it was a dark blue, veined with branches of black, he contemplated it for a moment then trucked it away in his robe and led the Moon Singer out of the building.

As to what happened next… well that is a different story.

~~/The End/~~


End file.
